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POEMS 



HON. MRS. NORTON. 



Lately Published. 

POETRY OF MES. NORTON. 

THE DREAM, CHILD OF THE ISLANDS, and Other Poems. 1 vol. 

Price $1.00. 
THE UNDYING ONE, SOEROWS OF ROSALIE, and Other Poems. 

1 vol. Price $1.00. 



POETRY OF MRS. BROWNING. 

THE POEMS OF ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, in 2 vols. 

Price $2.00. 
PROMETHEUS BOUND, SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE, 

CASA GUIDI WINDOWS, &c., &c. Price 75 cents. 



Also^ in uniform style. 



THE POEMS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, in 1 volume. 

Price $1.00. 
SELECT POEMS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, in 1 volume. 

Price 75 cents. 
THE EXCURSION, by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Price 75 cents. 
THE TRAGEDIES AND POEMS OF T. NOON TALFOURD. Price 

75 cents. 



a^ 



THE 



UNDYING ONE; 



SORROWS OF ROSALIE; 



OTHER POEMS. 



THE HON. MRS. NORTON. 



<^Y "-': 






Weto Yorft : 
C. S. FRANCIS & CO., 252 BROADWAY. 

BOSTON: — CROSBY, NICHOLS & CO. 
M.rsccc.Liv. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGS 

THE UNDYING ONE.— Canto 1 11 

Canto II 34 

Canto III 59 

Canto lY 106 

THE SORROWS OF ROSxiLIE.— Introduction 127 

Parti 131 

Part II 142 

Part IIL 162 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

On tlie Purple and White Carnation — A Fable 183 

The Careless Word 186 

They Loved one Another 188 

My Heart is like a Withered Nut 190 

My Childhood's Home 191 

Escape from the Snares of Love 192 

If3 194 

As when from Dreams awaking 195 

Old Friends 197 

The Bride 198 

The Pilgrim of Life 201 

The Captive Pirate 203 

I was not False to Thee 206 

The Greek Girl's Lament for her Lover 207 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

Oh ! Life is like the Summer Rill 209 

When poor in all but Hope and Love 210 

We have been Friends together 211 

The Boatswain's Song 212 

The Bridal Day 214 

Florence 216 

Arcadian Shades 218 

Picture Life 220 

Jephthah's Daughter 224 

Bingen 226 

Elvira 230 

The Young Crusader ; 233 

Oh ! could I come when Fays have Power 235 

Le Ranz des Vaches 236 

Translation 237 

Linda Alhaya 238 

Che de Yos e de Me Diran ? — From the Spanish 240 

Yerdad ! Yerdad ! — From the Spanish 242 

The One you loved the best 244 

I would the World were mine 246 

On T. B. S 247 

While I think of you, Love ! 248 

On T. B. S 249 

The Birth-Day 7 251 

The Darkness of the Grave 252 

Farewell 253 

Thy Will be Done 254 

Music's Power 256 

Say not 'tis Dark , 257 

But Thou 258 

I do not love Thee , . 259 

Lilla Yannen 260 

The Fairy Bells 264 

Love Not 266 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAQB 

Oh, Lore me ! Love me still 1 266 

Oh ! There's nothing worth Loving 267 

Deem not Thou 268 

The Mother's Lament 269 

'The Captive 270 

I'll weep for Thee ever 271 

1 have left my quiet Home ! — Gipsy's Song 273 

To Stand upon a Sunny Spot 275 

To-Morrow 276 

As Lone I Sit 277 

I won't Repeat 278 

Oh I Sad is the Heart 279 

Coriolanus 280 

I have a Rose 284 

"With snowy Sail 285- 

Farewell to thee, thou Sunny Isle 286 

When first I loved Thee 288 

My Own Land 289 

Our Early Love 290 

Harsh Scorn 291 

Tliou art gone like a Shadow 293 

In Childhood's Bright Hours 294 

I would I were the slight Fern growing 295 

Oh, Erin ! Sweet Erin ! 296 

Tliey bid me raise my heavy Eyes 297 

Long Ago 298 

To R. B. S.— At Madras 300 

Chatelar's Farewell 303 

A Dream of Erin 304 

Allan Percy 309 

Prayer — Morning 311 

Evening 312 

The Broken Heart — From the German 314 

The Power of Music 318 



8 CONTENTS. 

pAas 
The Echo 320 

Adventures of a Wood-Sprite 322 

The Story of Blanche and Brutikin 330 

The Little Wanderers 345 

Lament of the Poet Savage 348 

Summer's Gone 353 

Song of the Irish Peasant Wife 355 

To Lady Graham — On New Year's Day 357 

On Eeading an Old Letter 359 

Mona Water 363 

Lines — On seeing Mr. Landseer's Picture of the Death of 

the Stag 368 

Lines 378 

Christmas 37 5 

On the Death of Sir Walter Scott 382 



THE UNDYING ONE 



THE UNDYING ONE. 



CANTO I. 

Moonlight is o'er the dim and heaving sea, — 

Moonlight is on the mountain's frowning brow, 
And by their silvery fountains merrily 

The maids of Castaly are dancing now. 
Young hearts, bright eyes, and rosy lips are there, 

And fairy steps, and light and laughing voices, 
Ringing like welcome music through the air — 

A sound at which the untroubled heart rejoices. 
But there are hearts o'er which that dancing measure 

Heavily falls ! 
And there are ears to which the voice of pleasure 

Still vainly calls ! 
There's not a scene on earth so full of lightness 

That withering care 
Sleeps not beneath the flowers, and turns their brightness 

To dark despair ! 
O Earth, dim Earth, thou canst not be our home ; 
Or wherefore look we still for joys to come ? 
The fairy steps are flown — the scene is still — 
Naught mingles with the murmuring of the rill. 
Nay, hush ! it is a sound — a sigh — again ! 
It is a human voice — the voice of pain. 



12 THE UNDYING ONE, 

And beautiful is she, who sighs alone 
Now that her young and playful mates are gone : 
The dim moon, shining on her statue face, 
Gives it a mournful and unearthly grace ; 
And she hath bent her gentle knee to earth ; 

And she hath raised her meek sad eyes to heaven- 
As if in such a breast sin could have birth, 

She clasps her hands, and sues to be forgiven. 
Her prayer is over ; but her anxious glance 

Into the blue transparency of night 
Seems as it fain would read the book of chance, 

And fix the future hours, dark or bright. 
A slow and heavy footstep strikes her ear — 
What ails the gentle maiden 1 — Is it fear 1 
Lo ! she hath lightly raised her from the ground. 
And turn'd her small and stag-like head around ; 
Her pale cheek paler, and her lips apart. 
Her bosom heaving o'er her beating heart : 
And see, those thin white hands she raises now 
To press the throbbing fever from her brow — 
In vain — in vain ! for never more shall rest 
Find place in that young, fair, but erring breast ! 
He stands before her now — and who is he 
Into whose outspread arms confidingly 
She flings her fairy self? — Unlike the forms 
That woo and win a woman's love — the storms 
Of deep contending passions are not seen 
Darkening the features where they once have been, 
Nor the bright workings of a generous soul, 
Of feelings half conceal'd, explain the whole. 
But there is something words cannot express — 
A gloomy, deep, and quiet fixedness ; 
A recklessness of all the blows of fate — 
A brow untouch'd by love, undimm'd by hate — 



CANTO I. 13 

As ii^ in all its stores of crime and care, 
Earth held no suffering now for him to bear. 
Yes — all is passionless — the hollow cheek 

Those pale thin lips shall never wreathe with smiles ; 
Ev'n now, 'mid joy, unmoved and sad they speak 

In spite of all his Linda's winning wiles. 
Yet can we read, what all the rest denies, 

That he hath feelings of a mortal birth, 
In the wild sorrow of those dark bright eyes. 

Bent on that form — his one dear link to earth. 
He loves — and he is loved ! then what avail 

The scornful words which seek to brand with shame ? 
Or bitterer still, the wild and fearful tale 

Which couples guilt and horror with that name 1 

What boots it that the few who know him shun 

To speak or eat with that unworthy one % 

Were all their words of scorn and malice proved, 

It matters not — he loves and he is loved! 
****** 

****** 

" Linda ! my Linda !" thus the silence broke. 
And slow and mournfully the stranger spoke, 
" Seat we ourselves upon this mossy bed. 
Where the glad airs of heaven wave o'er thy head, • 
And thou shalt hear the awful tale which ne'er 
Hath yet been breathed, save once, to mortal ear. 
And if, my Linda — nay, love, tremble not — 
Thou shudder'st to partake so dark a lot — 
Go — and be happy in forgetful ness. 
And take — Fd bless thee if my tongue could bless." 
There was that sudden shiking of the tone 
That lingers in our memory when alone. 
And thrills the heart to think how deep the grief 
Which sues no pity — looks for no relief 
2 



14 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Oh ! deep beyond the feeble power of tears, 
Such scene will dwell within our souls for years ; 
And it will seem but yesterday we heard 
The faltering pause — the calm but broken word ; 
Saw the averted head, where each blue vein 
Swell'd in its agony of mental pain ; 
And heard the grief confess'd : — ^no, not confess'd, 
But struggling burst convulsive from the breast ! 
" Isbal," that gentle voice half-murmuring said. 
As from his shoulder she upraised her head ; 
" Thou knowest I love thee. When I came to-night 
T had resolved thy future, dark or bright. 
Should still be mine — Beloved — so must it be. 
For I have broke a fearful vow for thee. 
This morning he who calls himself my brother 
(Oh ! can he be the child of my sweet mother ?) 
Pleaded once more for himi — that hated friend 
Whose bride I was to be ; I could but bend 
To the cold earth my faint and trembling knee. 
And supplicate, with woman's agony. 
That he would spare me — but an hour — a day — 
I clasp'd my brother's knees — that brother said me nay ! 
He held a poniard to my shrinking heart. 

And bade me breathe the vow — 
Never in life or death from him to part 

Who is — my husband now. 
Isbal, we were betrothed ; my lips in fear 
Pronounced those words — but oh ! my heart was here — 
Here — in the calm cold moonlight, by thy side, 
Here — where the dark blue waters gently glide. 

Here in my childhood's haunts, noiv ev'n more dear 
Than in those happy days, for thou art near. 
Yes — ^while the unheeded vow my faint lip spoke, 
Recall'd the echo which thy tones awoke — 



CANTO I. 15 

Thy image rose between me and the shrine ; 

Surely the vow before it breathed was thine. 

To-morrow's sun proud Carlos claims his wife ; 

To-morrow's sun shall see my span of life. 

Devoted unto thee — thy tale can make 

No lot I would not share for thy sweet sake ; 

No — Ere I hear it, let love's fond vow be — 

To have no earth — ^no heaven — no hope but thee ! 

Now tell me all." — Again that gentle head 

With dewy eyes and flushing cheek is laid 

Upon his arm ; and with a thrill of pain 

The broken thread is thus renew'd again : 

" From the first hour I saw thee, on that night, 

When dancing in the moonbeam's chequer'd light 

With those young laughing ones who now are gone, 

By this same fountain which is murmuring on ; 

When my deep groan burst through the music's sound. 

And that soft eye went glancing, startled, round — 

From that sweet hour, when pity seem'd to move, 

1 loved thee — as the wretched only love. 

Oft since, when in the darkness of my day 

I sit, and dream my wretched life away ; 

In the deep silence of my night of tears. 

When Memory wakes to mourn for vanish'd years ; 

Shunn'd — scorn'd — detested — friendless and alone, 

I've thought of thee — and stifled back my groan ! 

I've come in daylight, and have flung me do^vn 

By the bright fountain's side, 
Chased with dear thoughts of thee each gloomy frown, 

And bless'd my promised bride. 
I've come when stormy winds have howl'd around 

Over the yielding flowers. 
Bending their gentle heads unto the ground, 

And thought of thee for hours. 



16 THE UNDYING ONE. 

I've come — my Linda knows that I have come 

When the soft starlight told 
That she had left her haughty brother's home, 

And hearts, as dead and cold 
As the chill waters of a moonless sea, 
Por the light dance and music's revelry 
With gay and loving naaids ; and I have watch'd 
Till one by one those soft steps have departed. 
And my young mournful Linda hath been snatch'd 

To the sear bosom of the broken-hearted 
Linda, there is a land — a far, dark land. 
Where on this head the red avenging hand 
Tell with its heaviest bolts — When watching by 
The bitter cross of Him of Calvary, 
They stood who loved and did believe in Him, 
I said, while all around grew dark and dim — " 
" Isbal, dear Isbal !" shriek'd the affrighted maid, 
" For that dear Saviour's sake — for him who said 
He died for simiers — mock me not, I pray — 
Oh ! yet, beloved, those words of Death unsay !" 
She hung upon his bosom, and look'd up 

Into those dark wild eyes with grief and fear. 
Alas ! poor maiden, 'twas a bitter cup 

To drink from hands which love had made so dear. 
As a knell o'er the river 

Flings its lingering tone. 
Telling of joys for ever 

Lost and gone : 
As the murmuring sound 
Of a slow deep stream. 
Where the sullen shadows round 
Reject each sunny beam : 
So o'er the maiden's spirit, like a moan. 
Falls the deep sameness of that strange calm tone. 









CANTO I. 




* 


* 


* 


* * 


4t 


* 


* 


* 


* * 


* 



17 



" I tell thee centuries have pass'd away, 
And that dark scene is still like yesterday ; 
The lurid clouds roll'd o'er each failing head, 
The Godlike dying, and the guilty dead : 
And awful signs were seen, and I was there — 
Woman, I was — or wherefore my despair ? 
I'll whisper thee — * * * 

****** 

Linda, my Linda ! start not thus away — 

My brain is 'wilder' d — what, love, did I say 1 

Forget the words — -forget ! Eternal God ! 

Is not this earth the same which then I trod 1 

Do not the stars gleam coldly from above, 

Mocking the lips that dare to talk of love 1 

I know — I feel it cannot be forgot. 

Yet, oh ! forsake me not — forsake me not ! 

Didst thou not bid me tell thee all ? oh ! rest 

Still on this worn and sad and guilty breast ; 

Whatever sins the eye of Heaven may see. 

Its last faint throb alone will end its love for thee ! 
****** 

****** 

I stood awhile, stifling my gasping breath, 

Fearfully gazing on that scene of death : 

Then with a shuddering groan of pain I shrouded 

My straining eyes, and turn'd, a cowering worm, 
To either side where grimly death had clouded 

The image of his maker in man's form. 
On one low cross a dark and fearful brow, 
On which the dews of death are standing now, 

Shows black despair : 
And on the other, though the eye be dim, 
2* 



18 THE UNDYING ONE. 

And quivering anguish in each stiffening limb, 

Mercy and hope are there ! 
Then rose the wailing sound of* woman's woe 

Appealing unto Heaven, 
And sinners bow'd their heads, and bent them low, 

And howl'd to be forgiven — 
And /glanced madly round — -One after one 
They stole away, and I was left alone — 
I — the Undying One, — in that dim night ! 
Oh ! words can never tell my soul's affright ; 
The sickening, thrilling, dark, and fainting fear 
That rose within my breast : — I seem'd to hear 
A thousand voices round ; I could not pray, 

But fled in solitary shame away. 

* * * * * * 

* * * * * * 

Linda ! thou wilt not think that after this 

Dark hour of agony, 
A day, a moment ev'n, of fever'd bliss 

Could yet remain for me : 
But so it was ; a wild and sudden hope 
Sprung in my heart — if that my life could cope 
With sickness and with time, I yet might be 
Happy through half an immortality. 
I sat at festal boards, and quaff 'd red wine, 

And sang wild songs of merriment and mirth ; 
And bade young sparkling eyes around me shine. 

And made a guilty paradise of earth. 
I built me palaces, and loved to dwell 

'Mongst all which most the eager heart rejoices ; 
Bright halls, where silvery f(3untains rose and fell, 

And where were ringing light and cheerful voices ; 
Gay gardens where the bowery trees around 

Their leafy branches spread, 



CANTO I. 19 

And rosy flowers upon the mossy ground 

Their honey'd perfume shed. 
But yet the curse was on me ; and it came 
Tainting my life with pains like hell's dark flame. 
The flowers withered : 

One after one 
Death's cold hand gathered, 

Till all were gone : 
And the eyes that were sparkling 

With pleasure's ray, 
Lay cold and darkling 

Till judgment-day. 
Lonely and weeping 

A few were left, 
Of those who were sleeping 

Too soon bereft ; 
But they soon were lying 

Beneath the sod — 
And I, the Undying, 
Remained — with God ! 
And the silvery fountains went murmuring on, 
But the voices of music and pleasure were gone. 
And I could not bear the banquet-room, 
Reminding me ever of my doom ; 
When the purple goblet I tried to quaflf. 
In my ear there rang some forgotten laugh ; 
And when the lay I sought to pour. 
Voices came round me which sang no more. 
Yea ! when I saw some lovely form, 
I thought how soon it must feed the worm — 
And shrank from the touch it left behind, 
As if I were not of human kind ; 
Or that the thing I could not save 
Were withering, then, in the cold dark grave. 



20 " THE UNDYIN(i ONE. 

I wandered through my halls 

Broken-hearted ; — 
Is it my voice which calls 
On the departed, 

With that stern sad tone 1 
Where are, beloved in vain, 
Your countless numbers ? 
May you not wake again 
From your dark slumbers 1 
Am I to be alone 1 
Oh ! let but one return — 

One fond one only ; 

Raise up the heavy urn, 

Life is so lonely — 

I ask no more of Heaven. 
The mocking echoes round, 

My words repeating 
With their dim dreary sound, 
Forbid our meeting — 
I may not be forgiven ! 
Linda ! my Linda ! those, and those alone 
Who have lived on, when more than life was gone ; 
And being yet young, look to the heavy years 
Which are to come — a fiiture all of tears — 
Those only who have stood in some bright spot 
With those beloved ones who shared their lot, 
And stand again in that sweet fairy scene, 
When those young forms are as they had not been ; 
When gazing wildly round, some fancied word 

Strikes on the listening spirit, and it seems 
As if again those gentle tones were heard 

Which never more can sound except in dreams — 
Those only who have started and awoke 
In anguish'd pain. 



CANTO I. 21 

And yearn'd (the gladsome vision being broke) 

To dream, again — 
Can feel for me. It seemed a little aay 
In which that generation pass'd away ; 
And others rose up round me, and they trod 
In those same streets — upon the self-same sod 
They love dand were beloved : they ate — they laugh'd — 
And the rich grape from ancient goblets quaff 'd : 
But I remain'd alone — a blighted thing. 
Like one sear leaf amid the flowers of spring ! 
My sick worn heart refused to cling again 
To dreams that pass away, and yearnings vain. 
Thou canst not think how strange — how horribly strange 
It was to see all round me fade and change, 
And I remain the same ! — I sat within 
My halls of light, a thing of care and sin ; 
The echoes gave me back the wild sad tone 
Of every deep and solitary moan ; 
Fearful I gazed on the bright walls around, 
And dash'd the mocking mirrors to the ground. 
And when I wander'd through the desert crowd 
Of all my fellow-men, I could have bow'd 
And grovell'd in the dust to him who would 
Have struck my breast, to slay me where I stood. 
They shrank from me as from some venomous snake 
Watchfully coil'd to spring from the dark brake 
On the unwary. Fearful — fearful tales 

Pass'd on from sire to son, link'd with my name. 
With all the awful mystery which veils 

A tale of guilt, and deepens its dark shame. 
They shrank from me, I say, as, gaunt and wild, 

I wander'd on through the long summer's day ; 
And every mother snatch'd her cowering child 

With horror from my solitary way ! 



22 THE UNDYING ONE. 

I fled from land to land, a hunted wretch ; 

From land to land those tales pursued me still : 
Across the wide bright sea there seem'd to stretch 

A long dark cloud my fairest hopes to kill. 
I grew a wanderer : from Afric's coast, 

Where gaily dwelt the yet unfetter'd black, 
To Iran, of her eager sons the boast, 

I went along my dim and cheerless track, 
O'er the blue Mediterranean, with its isles 

And dancing waves, and wildly pleasing song, 
By Lusitania's land of sun and smiles. 

My joyless bark in darkness sail'd along ! 
On many a soil my wandering feet have trod, 
And heard the voice of nations worship God. 
Where the dim-minded Heathen raised his prayer 
To some bright spirit dwelling in mid-air, 
I have stood by, and cursed the stiifen'd knee 
Which would not bow like him to Deity. 
Where the proud Ghebir, still at morning hour, 
Confess'd a God of glory and of power 
In the red sun that roll'd above his head, 
There have I been, and burning tear-drops shed. 
Where the Mahometan, through ages gone, 
In his dark faith hath blindly wander'd on ; 
Where the incredulous Jew, yet unforgiven, 
Still vainly waits the crucified of Heaven ; 
Where the meek Christian raises to the skies 
His clasping hands, and his adoring eyes, 
And prays that God — the All-seeing God — ^will bless 
His heart with purity of holiness ; 
Where rosy infancy in smiles was kneeling, 
With murmuring, half-imperfect word, appealing 
Unto the giver of all good — where joy 

Its tearful thanks retum'd, and bless'd the day 



J 



U A N T O 1 . 23 

When should be tasted bliss which cannot cloy, 

And tears in heaven's o\\ii light be dried away ; 
And where the frantic voice of love's despair 
Sends forth its thrilling sound, half wail, half prayer ; 
In every temple, and at every shrine 
I've stood and wish'd the darkest Avorship mine — 
So I might see, howe'er the beam mistaking. 
Some smile from Heaven upon a heart that's breaking ! 



" Twas on God's glad and holy sabbath day, 
When the wide world kneels down at once to pray, — 
When every valley, every miountain sod. 
Sends its faint tribute to the mighty God. 
And the low murmurings of the voiceless airs 
Waft on the echo of a thousand prayers — 
I stood on England's fresh and fairy ground, 
All lay in dewy stillness far around. 
Save the soft chiming of the village bell. 
Which seem'd a tale of love and peace to tell. 
I stood among the tombs — and saw the crowd 

Of Clu-istians enter in ; 
Each meek and humble head they gently bow'd, 

And chased the thoughts of sin, 
I watch'd them — one by one they onward pass'd 

And from my sight were gone. 
The welcome opening door received the last, 

And left me there alone. 
The blood rush'd thickly to my panting heart, 
And as I turn'd me sorrowing to depart. 
An inward voice seem'd whispering — ' Sinner, go ! 
And with those meek adorers bend thee low.' 
I trembled — hesitated — reach'd the door 
Through which the pious crowd had ceased to pour : 



24 THE UNDYING ONE. 

A sudden faintness came upon me there, 

And the relaxing limb refused to bear. 

I sank upon a stone, and laid my head 

Above the happy and unconscious dead ; 

And when I rose again, the doors were closed ! 

In vain I then my fearful thoughts opposed ; 

Some busy devil whisper'd at my heart 

And tempted me to evil — ' Shall the dart 

Of pain and anguish (thus I wildly said) 

Fall only on my persecuted head ? 

Shall they kneel peaceful down, and I stand here 

Oppress'd with horror's sick and fainting fear % 

Forbid it, Powers of Hell !' — A lowly cot 

Stood near that calm and consecrated spot : 

I enter'd it : — the morning sunshine threw 

Its warm bright beams upon the flowers that grew 

Around it and within it — 'twas a place 

So peaceful and so bright, that you might trace 

Tlie tranquil feelings of the dwellers there ; 

There was no taint of shame, or crime, or care. 

On a low humble couch was softly laid 

A little slumberer, whose rosy head 

Was guarded by a watch-dog ; while I stood 

In hesitating, half-repentant mood, 

My glance still met his large, bright, watchful eye, 

Vf andering from me to that sweet sleeper nigh. 

Yes, even to that dumb animal I seem'd 

A thing of crime ; the murderous death-light gleam'd 

Beneath my brow ; the noiseless step was mine ; 

I moved with conscious guilt, and his low whine 

Responded to my sigh, whose echo fell 

Heavily — as 'twere loth within that cot to dwell. 

My inmost heart grew sick — I turn'd me where 

The smouldering embers of a fire still were ; 



r A N T 1 . 25 

With shudderiDg hand I snatch'd a brand whose light 

Appear'd to burn unnaturally bright; 

And then with desperate step I bore that torch 

Unto the chapel's consecrated porch ! 

A moment more that edifice had fired, 

And all within in agony expired ; 

But, dimly swelling through my feverish soul, 

A chorus as from heaven's bright chancel came, 
Dash'd from my madden'd lips Guilt's venom'd bowl, 

And quench'd in bitter tears my heart's wild flame. 

The pealing organ, with the solemn sound* 

Of countless voices, fill'd the air around ; 

And, as I leant my almost bursting brow 

On the cold walls, the words came sad and slow 

To me, the exiled one, who might not share 

The joyfulness of their ecstatic prayer. 

Sadly I watch'd till through the open door 

The crowd of worshippers began to pour ; 

The hour was over — they had pray'd to Heaven, 

And now return'd to peaceful homes forgiven ; 

While / — one 'wilder! ng glance I gave around 

Upon that sunny, consecrated ground ; 

The warbling birds, whose little songs of joy 

The future and the past can ne'er alloy ; 

The rosy flowers, the warm and welcome breeze 

Murmuring gently through the summer trees. 

All — all to me was cursed — I could not die! 

I stretch'd my yearning arms unto the sky, 

I press'd my straining fingers on my brow, 

(Nothing could cool its maddening pulses now,) 

And flung me groaning by a tombstone there, 

To weep in my des23air ! 
****** 

****** 



26 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Long I had wept : a gentle sound of woe 
Struck on my ear — I turn'd the cause to know. 
I saw a young fair creature silently 

Kneeling beside a stone, 
A form as bright as man would wish to see, 

Or woman wish to own ; 

And eyes, whose true expression should be gladness, 

Beam'd forth in momentary tears of sadness. 

Showing like sunshine through a summer rain 

How soon 'twill all be bright and clear again. 

I loved her ! — 
****** 

In truth she was a light and lovely thing. 
Fair as the opening flower of early spring. 
The deep rose crimson'd in her laughing cheek. 
And her eyes seem'd without the tongue to speak ; 
Those dark blue glorious orbs ! — oh ! summer skies 
Were nothing to the heaven of her eyes. 
And then she had a witching art 
To wile all sadness from the heart ; 
Wild as the half-tamed gazelle. 
She bounded over hill and dell, 
Breaking on you when alone 
With her sweet and silvery tone, 
Dancing to her gentle lute 
With her light and fairy foot ; 
Or to our lone meeting-place 
Stealing slow with gentle pace. 
To hide among the feathery fern ; 
And, while waiting her return, 
I wandered up and down for hours — 
She started from amid the flowers, 
Wild, and fresh, and bright as they, 
To wing again her sportive way. 



CANTO I. 27 

" And she was good as she was fair ; 

Every morn and every even 
Kneeling down in meekness there 

To the Holy One of Heaven ; 
While those bright and soul-fraught eyes 

With an angel's love seem'd burning, 
All the radiance of blue skies 

With an equal light returning. 
The dream of guilt and misery 

In that young soul had never enter'd ; 
Her hopes of Heaven — her love of me, 

Were all in which her heart had centred ; 
Her longest grief, her deepest woe, 

When by her mother's tomb she knelt, 
Whom she had lost too young to know 

How deep such loss is sometimes felt. 



" It was not grief, but soft regret, 
Such as, when one bright sun hath set 
After a happy day, will come 
Stealing within our heart's gay home. 
Yet leaves a hope (that heart's best prize) 
That even brighter ones may rise. 
A tear, for hours of childhood wept ; 
A garland, wove for her who slept ; 
A prayer, that the pure soul would bless 
Her child, and save from all distress ; 
A sigh, as clasp'd within her own 
She held my hand beside that stone. 
And told of many a virtue rare 
That shone in her who slumber'd there — 
Were all that clouded for a while 
The brightness of her sunny smile. 



28 THE UNDYING ONE. 

* » * * * 

***** 

It was a mild sweet eyening, such 

As thou and I have sometimes felt 
When the soul feels the scene so much 

That even wither'd hearts must melt ; 
We sat beside that sacred place — 

Her mother's tomb ; her glorious head 
Seem'd brightening with immortal grace, 

As the impartial sun-light shed 
Its beams alike on the cold grave, 

Wandering o'er the unconscious clay, 
And on the living eyes which gave 

Back to those skies their borrow'd ray. 
' Isbal, beloved V 'twas thus my Edith spoke, 
(And my worn heart almost to joy awoke 
Beneath the thrill of that young silver, tone :) 
' Isbal, before thoii call'st me all thine own, 
I would that I might know the whole 
Of what is gloomy in thy soul. 
Nay, turn not on me those dark eyes 
With such wild anguish and surprise. 
In spite of every playful wile, 
Thou know'st I never see thee smtile ; 
And oft, when, laughing by thy side, 

Thou think'st that I am always gay. 
Tears which are hanging scarcely di'ied 

By thy fond kiss are wiped away. 
And deem me not a child ; for though 

A gay and careless thing I be, 
Since I have loved, I feel that, oh ! 

I could bear aught — do aught for thee !' 



C A N T 1 . 29 

" What boots it to record each gentle tone 
Of that yomig voice, when ev'n the tomb is gone 
By which we sat and talk'd 1 that innocent voice, 
So full of joy and hope, that to rejoice 
Seem'd natural to those who caught the sound ! 
The rosy lips are moulder'd under ground : 
And she is dead — the beautiful is dead ! 

The loving and the loved hath pass'd away. 
And deep within her dark and narrow bed 

All mutely lies what was but breathing clay. 

****** 



Why did I tell the wildly horrible tale ? — 

Why did I trust the voice that told me she 
Could bear to see beyond the lifted veil 

A future life of hopeless misery 1 — 
I told her all— * * * 

There was a long deep pause. 
I dared not raise my eyes to ask the cause, 
But waited breathlessly to hear once more 
The gentle tones which I had loved of yore. 
Was that her voice 1 — oh God ! — was that her cry 1 
Were hers those smother'd tones of agony 1 
Thus she spoke ; while on my brow 
The cold drops stood as they do now : — 
* It is not that I could not bear 
The worst of ills with thee to share : 
It is not that thy future fate 
Were all too dark and desolate : 
Earth holds no pang — Hell shows no fear 
I would not tri/ at least to bear ; 
And if my heart too weak might be. 
Oh ! it would then have broke for thee f 
3* 



so THE tJNDYING ONE. 

No, not a pang one teat had cost 

But this— to see thee, know thee, lost I' 



" Mj parch'd lips strove for utterance — but no, 

I could but listen still, with speechless woe : 

1 stretch'd my quivering arms — ' Away ! away !' 

She cried, ' and let me humbly kneel, and pray 

For pardon ; if, indeed, such pardon be 

Tor having dared to love — a thing like thee !' 



" 1 wrung the drops from off my brow ; 
I sank before her, kneeling low 

Where the departed slept. 
I spoke to her of heaven's wrath 
That clouded o'er my desert path, 

I raised my voice and wept ! 
I told again my heart's dark dream, 
The lighting of joy's fever'd beam, 

The pain of living on ; 
When all of fair, and good, and bright, 
Sank from my path like heaven's light 
When the warm sun is gone. 
But though 'twas pity shone within her eye, 
"Twas mingled with such bitter agony, 

My blood felt chill. 
Her round arms cross'd upon her shrinking breast, 
Her pale and quivering lip in fear compress'd 

Of more than mortal ill, 
She stood. — ' My Edith ! — mine !' I frantic cried ; 
'My Edith ! — mine P the sorrowing hills replied ; 
And the familiar sound so dear erewhile, 
Brought to her lip a wild and ghastly smile. 



CANTO I. 31 

Then gazing with one long, long look of love, 
She lifted up her eyes to heaven above, 
And turned them on me with a gush of tears : 
Those drops renew'd my mingled hopes and fears. 
' Edith ! — oh ! hear me !' With averted face 
And outspread arms she shrank from my embrace. 
' Away ! — away ! — She bent her shuddering knee, 
Bow'd her bright head — and Edith ceased to be. 

She was so young, so full of life, 

I linger'd o'er the mortal strife 

That shook her frame, with hope — how vain ! 

Her spirit might return again. 

Could she indeed be gone 1 — the love 

Of my heart's inmost core : — I strove 

Against the truth. — That thing of smiles, 

With all her glad and artless wiles — 

She, w^ho one hour ago had been { 

The fairy of that magic scene ! — 
She whose fond playful eye such brilliance shed. 
That laughter-loving thing — could she be cold and dead 1 

I buried her, and left her there ; 

And turn'd away in my despair. 



" And Evening threw her shadows round 
That beautiful and blessed ground, 
And all the distant realms of light 
Twinkled from out the dark blue night. 
So calmly pure — so far away 

From all Earth's sorrows and her crimes, 
The gentle scene before me lay ; 

So like the world of olden times, 
That those who gazed on it might swear 
Nothing but peace could enter there. 



82 THE UNDYING ONE. 

And yet there lay ungrown, untrod, 

The fresh and newly turned-up sod, 

Which cover'd o'er as fair a form 

As ever fed the noxious worm. 

There, but an hour ago — yea, less, 

The agony and bitterness 

Of human feelings, wrought so high 

We can but writhe awhile and die, 

Troubled the peace around ; and sent 

Wild shrieks into the firmament. 

How strange the earth, our earth, should share 

So little in our crime or care ! 

The. billows of the treacherous m.ain 

Gape for the wreck, and close again 

With dancing smiles, as if the deep 

Had whelm'd not with eternal sleep 

Many and many a warm young heart 

Which swell'd to meet, and bled to part. 

The battle plain its verdant breast 

Will show in bright and sunny rest, 

Although its name is now a word 

Through sobs, and moans, and wailing heard ; 

And many mourn'd for from afar, 

There died the writhing death of war. 

Yea, even the stream, by whose cool side 

Lay those who thirsted for its tide. 

Yearning for some young hand of yore, 

Wont in bright hours with smiles to pour 

The mantling wine for him whose blood 

Is mixing with the glassy flood — 

Ev'n that pure fountain gushes by 

With all its former brilliancy ; 

Nor bears with it one tint to show 

How crimson it began to flow. 



CANTO I. 33 

And thus an echo takes the tone 

Of agony : and when 'tis gone, 

Air, earth, and sea forget the sound, 

And all is still and silent round. 

And thus upon each cherish'd grave 

The sunbeams smile, the branches wave ; 

And all our tears for those who now are not, 

Sink in the flowery turf — and are forgot ! 
***** 

***** 

And I returned again, and yet again. 
To that remember'd scene of joy and pain : 
And ev'n while sitting by the early tomb 
Of her who had deserved a better doom, 

Her laughing voice rang in my ear. 

Her fairy step seem'd coming near. 

And I half heard her gay replies ; 

Until I raised my heavy eyes : 
Then on the lone and desert spot I bow'd, 
And hid my groaning head, and wept aloud." 



The stranger paused — and Linda gently wept 
For him who lived in pain — for her who slept : 
And clung to him, as if she fear'd that fate 
Would strike him there and leave her desolate. 
He spoke — and deaf her ear to all below, - 
Save the deep magic of that voice of woe ! 



THE UNDYING ONE. 



CANTO II. 



" Years passed away in grief — and I forswore, 

For her dear sake whose heart could feel no more, 

The sweetness and the witchery of love, 

Which round my spirit such deep charm had wove : 

And the dim twilight, and the noonday sky. 

The fountain's music, the rich brilliancy 

Of Nature in her summer — all became 

To me a joyless world — an empty name — 

And the heart's beating, and the flush'd fond thought 

Of human sympathy, no longer brought 

The glow of joy to this o'er- wearied breast. 

Where hope like some tired pilgrim sank to rest. 

The forms of beauty which my pathway cross'd 

Seem'd but dim visions of my loved and lost, 

Floating before me to arouse in vain 

Deep yearnings for what might not come again, 

Tears without aim or end, and lonely sighs. 

To which earth's echoes only gave replies. 
****** 

* * * * * * 

And I departed — once again to be 
Roaming the desert earth and trackless sea : 



CANTOII. 35 

Amongst men ; but not with them : still alone 
Mid crowds, unnamed — unnoticed and unknown. 
I wander'd on — and the loud shout went forth 

Of Liberty, from all the peopled world. 
Like a dark watch-word breathing south and north 

Where'er the green turf grew, or billow curl'd ; 
And when I heard it, something human stirr'd 

Within my miserable breast, and lo ! 

With the wild struggling of a captive bird, 

My strong soul burst its heavy chain of woe. 

I rose and battled with the great and brave, 

Dared the dark fight upon the stormy wave. — 

From the swarth climes, where sunshine loves to rest, 

To the green islands of the chilly west. 

Where'er a voice was raised in Freedom's name, 

There sure and swift my eager footstep came. 

And bright dreams fired my soul — How sweet will be 

To me the hour of burning victory ! 

When the oppressor ceaseth to oppress. 

And this sad name the tortured nations bless ; 

When tyranny beneath my sword shall bend. 

And the freed earth shall turn and own me for her friend. 
****** 

****** 

Where Rome's proud eagle, which is now a name, 

Spread forth its wings of glory to the sky, 
And young warm hearts, that dreamt of deathless fame, 

Woke from that dream to gaze arornid and die : 
Where the pale crescent gleam'd athwart the cloud 

Of men array'd to perish in their pride : 
And the harsh note of war rang wild and loud 

To urge the course of that impetuous tide : 
Where Spain's dark banner o'er the castle walls 

Heavily floats upon the mournful breeze — 



36 THE UNDYING ONE. 

And firmly sad the measured footstep falls 

Of him who dreams of home in scenes like these : 
Where steep'd in bitter tears and guiltless blood, 

The lily flag of France droops sadly down : 
Where England's lion o'er the heaving flood 

Boastfully flutters in its proud renown : 
Ev'n where her sister island dimly rears 

(Though all the freshness from its hue be gone) 
Her verdant standard from a land of tears, 

While there are winds in heaven to waft it on : — 
'Neath these, and many more than these, my arm 

Hath wielded desperately the avenging steel — 
And half exulting in the awfiil charm 

Which hung upon my life — forgot to feel ! 



*' I fought and conquer' d — and when all was done 

How fared misfortune's persecuted son 1 

The dim days pass'd away and left me lone ; 

The tyrant and the slave alike were gone. 

The indignant eyes that flash'd their wrath afar — 

The swords that glitter'd through. the cloudy war — 

The swelling courage of the manly breast — 

The iron hand whose strength the weak oppressed — 

The shouting voices in the deadly fray-' — 

The jest and song that made ev'n camps seem gay — 

The sounds — the forms — the feelings which had made 

Those scenes in which my feet so long had stray'd — 

Where and what are they now ? a bitter dream 

Lit by a meteor-like delusive gleam. 

Freedom ! thou art indeed a dream ! a bright 

And beautiful — a vision of pure light, 

Pour'd on our earth-clad spirits from above — 

Where all are equals, and where all is love : 



CANTO II. 37 

But yet no less a dream. Where is the land 
Which for the ploughshare hath exchanged the brand, 
And been at peace for ever ? Is there not 
A war with all things in our changeful lot 1 
A war with Heaven, a war with our own souls, 
Where stormily the sea of passion rolls — 
Wrecking each better feeling, which doth strain 
Por liberty — and wrings our hearts to pain 1 
The war of fallen spirits with their sin, 
The terrible war whiieJi rageth deep \snthin — 
Lo ! theve the cause of all the strife below 
Which makes God's world a wilderness of woe. 
Ye dream, and dream, and dream fi'om day to day, 
And bleed, and fight, and struggle, and decay : 
And with high-sounding mockeries beguile 
Natures that sink, and sicken all the while. 
Whither are the old kings and conquerors gone 1 
Where are the empires lost — the empires won 1 
Look — from the classic lands whose fallen pride 
Is fain to summon strangers to their side — 
Where with weak wail they call themselves oppress'd, 
Who, if unchained, would still be slaves at best — 
To far across the dim and lonely sea 
Where the thrice-conquer'd styles herself " the free :" 
How many generations now are passed 
Since the first war-cry rose, and when will be the last 1 
Yet is there freedom in a distant clime, 
Where freedom dwelleth to the end of time ; 
And peace, and joy, and ignorance of fear. 
And happiness — but oh ! not here ! not here ! 
Not in this world of darkness and of graves. 
Where the strong govern, and the weak are slaves. 
Thou, whose full heart would dream of liberty, 
Go out beneath the solitary sky 
4 



38 THE UNDYING ONE. 

In its blue depth of midnight — stand and gaze 
While the stars pour on thee their gentle rays ; 
And image, if thou canst, unto thy soul 
A little part of the most wondrous whole 
Of all that lies beyond — there no dark strife 
Destroys the creatures of the God of Life ; 
There no ambition to be made m.ore great 
Turns the pure love of brothers into hate. 
Each hath his place assign'd him like the stars 
Up in the silent sky, where nothing wars. 



" 'Twas on a battle plain, — here in thine own 

Sweet land of sunshine, that I paused to mark 
The heaps of slaughter'd heroes now o'erthrown, 

Whose helpless corpses lay all stripp'd and stark. 
'Twas in the time when Moorish blood first mix'd 

With haughty Spain's ; and on her spotless name 
The dint and brand of slavery affix'd ; 

And blood was spilt to reap eternal shame. 
The useless struggle ended on that day, 
And round about Grenada's walls there lay 
Many and many a brave young bosom, gored 
By the rude spear or deeply thrusting sword. 
And silence was upon that fatal field. 
Save when, to nature's anguish forced to yield, 
Some fallen soldier heaved a broken sigh 
For his far home, and turn'd him round to die : 
Or when the wailing voice of woman told 

That her long weary search was not in vain, 
And she had found the bosom, stiff and cold. 

Where her soft clustering curls had often lain. 
'Twas one of these that burst upon my ear 

While watching on that field : the wind-harp's tone 



C A N T O 1 1 . 39 

Was not more mournful, nor more sweetly clear, 
Than was the sound of that sad woman's moan. 

Through the dim moonlight I beheld a form — 

Her dark brow clouded with grief's passionate storm, 

And on her breast an infant calmly slept 

Which she would pause to gaze on ; and again, 

With bitterness rene'^'d, she loudly wept, 
And call'd on its dead father — but in vain ! 



* My early and my only love, why silent dost thou lie, 
When heavy grief is in my heart, and tear-drops in mine 

eye? 
I call thee, but thou answerest not, all lonely though I be : 
Wilt thou not burst the bonds of sleep, and rise to comfort 

me? 



* Oh ! wake thee — ^wake thee from thy rest upon the 

tented field : 
This faithful breast shall be at once thy pillow and thy 

shield ; 
If thou hast doubted of its truth and constancy before, 
Oh ! wake thee now, and it will strive to love thee even 

more. 



* If ever we have parted, and I wept thee not as now. 
If ever I have seen thee come, and worn a cloudy 

brow. 
If ever harsh and careless words have caused thee pain 

and woe. 
Then sleep, in silence sleep, and I will bow my head 

and go. 



40 THE UNDYING ONE. 

' But if through all the vanish'd years whose shadowy 

joys are gone, 
Through all the changing scenes of life, I thought of thee 

alone ; 
If I have raoum'd for thee when far, and worshipp'd thee 

when near. 
Then wake thee up, my early love, this weary heart to 

cheer ! 



* Awake ! thy baby-boy is here, upon whose soft cheek lie 
No tears of grief, save those which Ml from his sad 

mother's eye ; 
How, lingering, didst thou gaze on him when we were 

forced to part — 
Rise up, for he is here again, and press him to thy heart ! 

* In vain, in vain — I dream of thee and joyous life in vain ; 
Thou never more shalt rise in strength from off the bloody 

plain ; 
Thou never more shalt clasp thy boy, nor hold me to thy 

breast • 
Thou hast lefl us lonely on the earth, and thou art gone 

to rest. 



* Awake thee, my forsaken boy ! — awake, my babe, and 

weep ; 
Art thou less wretched that thy brow no trace of woe can 

keep 1 
Oh ! would through life that thou mightst taste no cup 

but that of joy, 
And I, as now, might weep for both — ^my boy ! — ^my orphan 

boy !' 



CANTO II. 41 

" She paused and raised her dark wild eyes, where bright 

In the blue heavens broke the dawning light — 

But what to her was day or sunshine now, 

All vainly beaming on that pallid brow 1 

She only felt that never more with him. 

In the deep cloudless noon, or moonlight dim. 

Her weary feet might wander — that his voice 

Should never bid her beating heart rejoice — 

That where there had been sunniness and bliss, 

Silence and shadows and deep loneliness 

Must be her portion — that all days to come 

Would rise upon a widow'd heart and home. — • >, 

She only felt, while weeping on that spot. 

That bright and waking world contain'd him not ! 

She rose as if to go — yet once again 

Tum'd back in tears to gaze upon the slain ; 

And raised her voice of wail, whose tone might ne'er 

Awake an echo in that slumbering ear : — 



* We shall meet no more on the sunny hill, 

Where the lonely wild flower springs and dies ; 
We shall meet no more by the murmuring rill, 

Where the blue cool waters idly rise. 
The sunshine and flowers all bright remain 

In their lonely beauty, as of yore ; 
But to me 'twill never be bright again — • 

We shall meet no more ! Ave shall meet no more ! 



* We shall meet no more in the lighted halls, 
Amid happy faces and gay young hearts ; 

I may listen in vain as each footstep falls, 
I noay watch in vain as each form departs ! 
4* 



42 THE tTNCriNG ONE. 

There are laughing voices, but thy young tone 
Its cheerful greeting hath ceased to pour ; 

77iy form from the dancing train is gone— 

We shall meet no m.ore ! we shall meet no more P 



" Such was the scene where first I saw and loved 

Xarifa. She was beautiful, but not 
By that alone my wither'd heart was moved j 

But that long days, unwept though unforgot. 
Arose before me, freshly to oppress. 
And wring my secret soul to bitterness. - 
Her sorrow was as mine, and every word 

She utter'd in her agony did seem 
As if a spirit voice I dimly heard 

Speaking of Edith in a weary dream. 
And so it was — our tearful hearts did cling 
And twine together ev'n in sorrowing ; 
And we became as one — ^her orphan boy 

Lisp'd the word ' Father' as his dark eyes gazed. 
With their expressive glance of timid joy, 

Into my fece, half pleased and half amazed. 
And we did dwell together, calmly fond 
With our own love, and not a wish beyond. 



" Well, we were happy ; and I vainly thought 

That happiness so calm might last — ^but no ! 
Suns rose, and set, and rose ; years came and pass'd, 

And brought with them my lot — the lot of woe. 
And the boy grew in beauty and in strength. 

Rousing my soul to love him more and more — 
Till I gazed on that graceful form at length 

With a proud worship — and while musing o'er 



CANTO II. 43 

The happy future, half forgot that fate 

Had doom'd me ever to be desolate — 

That all / loved had but a life as frail 

As the young flower that woos the summer gale ; 

And that the hour must come, when they w ould flee 

To that far land of peace where was no place for me ! 

And ev'n before that hour, upon my home 

Dark shadows fell from weary day to day ; 
And where there had been suiminess, was gloom — 

And that boy's mother changed and pined away : 
In her unquiet eye from year to year 
Rose the expression of a restless fear, 
And lines, which time had yet forborne to trace, 
Were wTit by care upon her fading face. 
There w^ould she sit, and steal a fearful glance, 
Or fix those Moorish eyes as in a trance 
Upon my form ; and love dwelt still within 
That pure fond heart w^hich suffer'd for no sin. 
And she would strive my sorrow to beguile, 
And start, and wipe away her tears, and smile, 
LIf, gazing in her M'aking dream, she caught 
My eye, and read therein the master thought. 
But never through those years did word or sign 
Ask for the secret w^hich was wholly mme. 
She faded silently as doth the rose. 

Which but in death reveals the secret smart, 
And faintly smiling, to the last bestows 

A balmy perfume from its withering heart. 
How often, when I gazed on her, there came 
The earnest wish that trembled through my frame, 
To rise — to clasp her to my swelling breast, 
To falter forth my tale, and be at rest ! 
When others, whom the laws of Heaven had tied, 
Wander'd through this world's sunshine side by side ; 



44 THE tjNDYi]Sr& ONE. 

Each beaming face bright as their brows above, 
"With perfect confidence and mutual love — 
When I have seen some young heart's feeling rise 
And glisten forth from glad and loving eyes ; 
Or heard the murmur'd words fond lips have spoken 
Of faith unchanged and firm, and vows unbroken — 
How I have strain'd my clasp'd and quivering hands, 

And stretch'd them to the heavens as if in prayer ; 
Yearning to bow to Nature's strong conamands, 

And cloud another's life with my despair ! 
But when I thought of Edith — of that hour 
When suddenly, and like a storm-scathed flower, 
She sank and perish'd, whose dear brightness seem'd 
More beautifiil than aught my heart had dream'd — 
I shrank within myself, and silently 
Met the sad glances of her anxious eye. 

L " Oh Sympathy ! — how little do they know, 
Who to a fellow heart confide their woe. 
Who raise their tearfiil gaze to see again 
Reflected back those drops of summer rain — 
How weighs the lid which dares not show its tear, 
But weeps in silence, agony, and fear ; 
And, dying for a glance, must yet disown 
The sacred balm of hearts, and writhe alone ! 
To stifle grief till none but God can see, 
Longing the while to say, ' Come, weep with me : 
Weep ! for the flowers have faded from my path, 

The rays of light have left my darken' d sky : 
Weep ! for thy tear is all the wanderer hath. 

Whose lone despair would bid him groan — and die :* 
Thus — thus to shrink from every outstretch'd hand, 
To strive in secret, and alone to stand ; 



C A N T O 1 1 . 45 

Or, when obliged to mingle with the crowd, 

Curb the pain'd lip which quiveringly obeys — 
Gapes wide with sudden laughter, vainly loud, 

Or writhes a faint slow smile to meet their gaz^ 
Tliis — this is hell ItThe soul which dares not show 

The barbed sorrow which is rankling there, 
Gives way at length beneath its weight of woe, 

Withers unseen, and darkens to despair ! J 



" One eve at spring-tide's close we took our way, 

When eve's last beams in soften'd glory fell. 
Lighting her faded form with sadden'd ray. 

And the sweet spot where we so loved to dwell. 
Faintly and droopingly she sat her down 

By the blue waters of the Guadalquivir ; 
With darkness on her brow, but yet no frown. 

Like the deep shadow on that silent river. 
She sat her down, I say, with face upturn'd 

To the dim sky, which daylight was forsaking. 
And in her eyes a light unearthly burn'd — 

The light which spirits give whose chains are breaking ! 
And, as she gazed, her low and tremulous voice 

In murmuring sweetness did address the earth, 
With mournful rapture, which makes none rejoice ; 

And gladness, which to sorrow doth give birth. 



* The spring ! I love the spring ! for it hath flowers. 
And gaily plumaged birds, and sapphire skies. 

And sleeping sunshine, and soft cooling showers, 
And shadowy woods where weary daylight dies. 

And it hath dancing waters, where the sun, 
With an enamour'd look at the light waves, 



46 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Both lull himself to rest when day is done, 
And sinks away behind their rocky caves. 



* I love the spring, for it hath many things 

In earth and air that mind me of old days ; 
Voices and laughter and light murmurings 

Borne on the breeze that through the foliage plays ; 
And sounds that are not words, of human joy 

From the deep bosom of the shelter'd wood ; 
Woods dimm'd by distance, where, half pleased, half coy, 

The maiden chides her broken solitude. 

* The spring of youth ! — ^how like to nature's spring. 

When its light pleasures all have pass'd away, 
Are the dim memories which that word can bring. 

Wringing the heart that feels its own decay ! 
The half-forgotten charm of many a scene 

Coming confusedly athwart the brain ; 
The wandering where our former steps have been 

With forms that may not wander there again ; — 

* Murmurings and voices where some single tone 

Thrills for a moment, and forgets to sound : 
Yearnings for all that now is past and gone. 

And vain tears sinking in the mossy ground : — 
Oh ! this is all, and more than all, which stays 

To mock us with the sunshine of past years ; 
And those spring shadows on our autumn days 

Cast their dim gloom, and turn our smiles to tears \^ 

" She paused — and on the river bent her glance, 

As if she loved to see the waters dance, j 

-J ' 



CANTO II. 47 

And dash their silver sparkles on the shore 

In mockery of Ocean's giant roar. 

And a half smile lit up that pallid brow, 

As, casting flowers upon the silent stream, 
She watch'd the frail sweet blossoms glide and go 

Like human pleasures in a blissful dream. 
And then, with playful force she gently flung 

Small shining pebbles from the river's brink, 
And o'er the eddying waters sadly hung. 

Pleased, and yet sorrowful, to see them sink. 
* And thus,' she said, ' doth human love forget 

Its idols— some sweet blessings float away, 
Follow'd by one long look of vain regret, 

As they are slowly hastening to decay ; 
And some with sullen plunge, do mock our sight, 

And suddenly go down into the tomb. 
Startling the beating heart, whose fond delight 

Chills into tears at that unlook'd-for doom. 
And there remains no trace of them, save such 

As the soft ripple leaves upon the wave ; 
Or a forgotten flower, whose dewy touch 

Reminds us some are withering in the grave ! 
When all is over, and she is but dust 

Whose heart so long hath held thy form enshrined; 
When I go hence, as soon I feel I must. 

Oh ! let my memory, Isbal, haunt thy mind. 
Not for myself — oh ! not for me be given 

Vain thoughts of vain regret, though that were sweet, 
But for the sake of that all-blissful Heaven, 

Where, if thou wiliest it, we yet may meet. 
When in thy daily musing thou dost bring 

Those scenes to mind, in which I had a share ; 
When in thy nightly watch thy heart doth wring 

With tJK) light of me — oh ! murmur forth a prayer! 



48 THE UNDYING ONE. 

A prayer for me — for thee — for all who live 

Together, yet asunder in one home — 
Who their soul's gloomy secret dare not give, 

Lest it should blacken all their years to come. 
Yes, Isbal, yes ; to thee I owe the shade 

That prematurely darkens on my brow ; 
And never had my lips a murmur made — 

But — ^but that — see ! the vision haunts me now ! 
She pointed on the river's surface, where 

Our forms were pictured seated side by side ; 
I gazed on them, and hers was very fair, 

And mine — was as thou seest it now, my bride. 
But hers, though fair, was fading — wan and pale 

The brow whose marble met the parting day. 
Time o'er her form had thrown his misty veil, 

And all her ebon curls were streak'd with grey : 
But mine was youthful — yes ! such youth as glows 

In the young tree by lightning scathed and blasted — 
That, joyless, waves its black and leafless boughs 

On which spring showers ajid summer warmth are 
wasted. 
The lines upon my brow were those of age ; 

The hollow cheek might speak of time or woe ; 
But all the rest was as in life's first stage — 

The tangled curls without one touch of snow. 
Oh ! wherefore do I thus describe old times 1 

Am I not here — the same accursed thing, 
Stamp 'd with the brand of darkness for my crimes — 

Never to die — ^but ever withering 1 



" Yes — yes — it is of her that I would tell. 
She turn'd, as from my lips a murmur fell, 



CANTO II. 49 

Half curse, half groan — and with a gentle look 
Of angel love and pity thus she spoke : — 



' Isbal, forgive me, if a bitter thought 
This first, last time hath to thy heart been brought 
By her who loved thee, ev'n in doubt and dread, 
Better than aught, save him — the early dead ! 
Forgive me ! for I would not pass from earth 
With one dark thought, which may have had its birth 
Unknown to thee ; nor leave thee till I've said — 
(Chide not these tears, which weakness makes me shed) — 
Till I have said — and truth is on my tongue — 
How fervently my heart to thine hath clung : 
How I have shrunk, yet sought thy dear caress ; 
How I have feared — but never loved thee less : 
How I have smiled for thee, — with thee, unbid, 
While quivering tears rose 'neath the swelling lid — 
And still kept silence when I would have spoken 
For fear that seal'd-up fountain should be broken. 
How I have — Isbal — Isbal — when I'm gone, 
And thou hast nothing left to smile upon ; 
Remember — 'tis a weak, a foolish prayer — 
But do remember how I tried to bear 
That worst of human pangs, a breaking heart, 
And never let thee know how deep the smart ! 
Remember, that I never sought to know 
The secret source of thy mysterious woe ; 
Nor ask'd why 'midst all changing things — unmoved 
Thou — thou — (I tremble — heed it not, beloved !) — 
Unmoved thou hast remained — Oh, Isbal, pray ; 
For dark the fear that clouds my parting day. 
And though the word be vain — the time be pass'd, 
Remember — I have loved thee to the last !' 
5 



50 THE UNDYING ONE. 

She ceased, and strove my hand in hers to keep : 
She wept not then — she was too weak to weep — 
But with a faint fond gaze, half awe, half love, 
Like an embodied prayer, — she look'd above. 
And I — I would have told her then — that tale 
The dream of which had turn'd her soft cheek pale, 
And sent her to her grave — ^but she refused. 
^ Isbal, thy confidence is not abused : 
If thou art sinful, let me know it not ; 
If thou hast sorrow'd, let it be forgot : 
The past is nothing now, and I would die 
Without one thought which may not soar on high.' 



*' And she did droop and die, and pass away. 

Leaving her memory, and that youthful son 
Who sorrow'd for a while and then was gay, 

And spoke in smiles of that lamented one. 
Happy ! for him the present bore no sting. 

The past no agonies : — the future rose. 
Bright as the colours of an angel's wing. 

Too far from earth to darken with its woes. 
And he was form'd to love the haunts of men, 
And to be fervently beloved again ; 
Firm, but yet gentle — fearless, but not bold — 
Gay with the young, and tender to the old ; 
Scorning the heart where dark distrust was shown, 
Because no treachery ever stain'd his own ; 
Ardent in love, but yet no-ways inclhied 
To sue wherever beauty sate enshrined : — 
Such was my orphan care, and I became 
Proud of Abdallah's father's blessed name. 
Glad were the youths in whom fond friends could spy 
Abdallah's graceful mien and daring eye : 



CANTO II. 51 

Fondly the aged hail'd their favourite boy 

"With faltering words of mingled praise and joy ; 

Nor less the fair and fairy ones adored 

The eloquent of tongue, and swift of sword. 

And, from the many beautiful, he chose 

One that might share in peace his evening's close ; 

There might be others fairer — but she was 

So young — so meek — so feminine — applause, 

And pride, and admiration, and the wild 

Half worship which we pay earth's erring child — 

All the tumultuous brain and bosom's stir 

Sank mto tenderness at sight of her. 

You could not gaze on her, nor wish to shield 

That shrinking form and gentle head from harm. 
No borrow 'd art could light or lustre yield, 

But every bright addition spoil'd a charm. 



" Their bridal day — their bridal day — it is 

A day to be remember'd, deep within 
The gloomy caves where dwells the foe of bliss, 

And sends his fiends to tempt man on to sin. 
The hall was bright with many-colour'd lamps ; 

The air was peopled with soft happy sounds ; 
And, careless of the dewy midnight damps, 

Young feet were twinkling in the moonlit grounds : 
The purple wine was mantlmg in the cup. 

And flashing its rich hue upon their brows, 
Who bent with eager lips to quaff it up. 

And add their laughter to the loud carouse : 
The merry jest — the superstitious tale — 

The random question, and the tart reply. 
Rang on in murmurings confused- — till pale 

The moonlight waned, and left the dawning sky. 



52 THE UNDYING ONE. 

The light dance ceased — ^by lips as sweet as thine 

The word of fond farewell was slowly said ; 
Many departed — many sank supine, 

With folded arms beneath each heavy heaA 
But still, with every lingering tardy guest 

The brimming wine-cup circled as before : 
And still went round the oft-repeated jest. 

Which with impatient glance the bridegroom bore. 
There was a traveller, who chanced to be 
Invited with this joyous company ; 
And he was telling of the wondrous sights — 
The popular sports — ^the strange and wild delights 
Which in far countries he had heard and seen. *, 
And once in Italy, where he had been, 
How in great ruin'd Rome he heard a strange 
Wild horrible tale of one who, for a crime 
Too deadly to relate, might never change, 
But live undying to the end of time : 
One who had wander'd sadly up and down 
Through every sunny land and peopled town. 
With Cain's dark sign deep branded on his brow — 
A haggard thing of guilt, and want, and woe ! — 
Breathings that seem'd like sobs, so loud they came 
And. chokingly from out my trembling frame, 
Fill'd up the awful pause which came at length, 
As if to give his words more horrid strength. 
And every eye turn'd wonderingly and wild 
Upon my face, while shudderingly I smiled, 
And said, ' It is a fearful tale indeed ; 

But one that scarce needs daunt ye, since ye are 
From the dark fiend whom Heaven such fate decreed, 

And Rome's Imperial ruins, distant far.' 
More had I said, nor heeded their reply. 

But that Abdallah met my glance, and rose ;— 



C A N T O 1 1 . 53 

And on his face I fix'd my wandering eye, 

Which glared, and glared, and glared, and would not 
close. 
And o'er his eager brow there shot a gleam. 
As if but now remembering some dark dream. 
And his lips parted — but he did not speak ; 
And his hand rose, but languidly and weak 
Sank down again ; while still we gazing stood 
Into each other's eyes, as if for food. 
I tried to laugh, but hollow in my throat 

The gurgling murmur died ; and once again 
That young arm rose, and on the table smote. 

And the slow words came audibly and plain : 
While on all sides they fled and left us there. 
Guilt, fear, and anguish, battling with despair, 
* Arise, accursed ! and go forth in peace ! 

No hand shall harm thee, and no tongue insult ; 
But 'neath this roof thy unblest voice must cease ; 

And thy dark sin must meet its dark result.' 
I trembled, but obey'd not ; from his face 

My eyes withdrew, and sank upon the ground : 
While standing rooted, helpless, in my place, 

I utter'd some half inarticulate sound — 
Terms that I scarce remember — -all, save one^ 
Utter'd with agony — it was ' My son !' 
And well I can recall the look, ev'n now. 
Of scorn angelic on his lip and brow ; 
The cold defiance of his alter'd eye ; 
The tone that bade me wander forth and die : 
Like the bright cherub to his home in hell, 
Dooming the first who sinn'd — the first who fell. 

' Thy son ! I thank kind heaven, whate'er my lot, 
That word is false ; my father thou art not ! 



54 Tllfi UNDYlIfa ONE* 

My father ! — ^back unto thy place of crime, 

Dark fiend, who slew my mother ere her time ! 

Darest thou remind me by the awful sound, 

How a mock link to thee that angel bound 1 

Well can I now explain -her gentle look 

Of mingled terror, anguish, and rebuke. 

As 'neath thy blasting look, from day to day, 

Sick of the joyless world, she pined away. 

Breathe not the words, she loved thee : true, she loved : 

In that her virtue, not thine own, is proved. 

She loved, because the purity within 

Her gentle heart was ignorance of sin. 

Praise be to Heaven, she died ! I little thought 

Such words should to my secret soul be taught ; 

But I would howl them to the assembled world : 

Praise be to Heaven, she died ! nor saw thee hurl'd 

From out the haunts of men with fear and hate, 

Like a wan leper from the city's gate ! 

Praise be to Heaven, she died ! nor saw thee stand 

With shrinking quivering form, and nerveless hand — 

The cowardice of guilt within thy heart. 

And shaking thee! — all devil as thou art! 

Go ! — The poor leper, scarr'd, and pale, and wan, 

And driven groaning from his fellow man ; 

Trailing his loathsome languid limbs afar, 

And gazing back where all his loved ones are — 

The loved, who love him not : — oh ! he is free 

From ill or sadness, when compared with thee. 

Though all forsake him as he helpless lies, 

And, straining hi-s dim eyes, doth wonder where 
Are those who should watch o'er him as he dies, 

Cool his hot mouth, and soften his despair : 
Though in the dust with agony he rolls — 
His is the body's plague, and thine, and thine — the soul's !' 



C A N T O 1 1 . 55 

" Bitter the truth, and bitterly I spoke, 
When from my lip the first deep murmur broke ; 
And then to that young heart I made appeal — 
That heart which seem'd for all but me to feel : 
Till like a torrent my pent words found way, 
And thus I raved :— 



" ' Happy the cottager ! for he hath sons 

And blue-eyed daughters made for love and mirth ; 
And many a child whose chasing footstep runs 

Around the precincts of his humble hearth. 
Borne on the breeze their light-toned laughter comes, 

Making glad music in the parents' ear ; 
And their bright faces light their humble homes, 

Brows all unshaded yet by guilt or fear ! 
And if at length one rosy head bows low. 

And prayers are vain from death's dark power to save, 
The lessen'd circle meet in mingled woe 

To weep together o'er that gentle grave : 
And, gazing through their misty tears, they see 

(Like the blue opening through the stormy cloud) 
Faces where grief was never meant to be, 

And eyes whose joy doth mock the sable shroud. 
The one link sever'd from that broken chain 

Is lost, and they must cling to what is left ; 
Back to their many loves they turn again. 

And half forget of what they were bereft. 
But I — I had but thee ! I had but thee ! 

And thou wert precious to my weary heart ; 
For thee I bow'd the head and bent the knee — 

For thee I toil'd till the strong vein would start. 
And thou didst pay me then with many a smile, 

And broken words by joy-touch'dlips breathed forth ; 



56 THE UNDYING ONE. 

And many a little playful infant wile — 

Dear to my soul — to others little worth. 
The lip that now hath quiver'd forth its curse, 

The shuddering hand that bade my form obey — • 
The trembling limbs that shrink as if from worse 

Than death could threaten to his human prey — 
All — all have clung to me, with each fond sign : 

The tottering feeble step hath sought my aid : 
And oft have gently nestled, close to mine, 

The clustering curls of that indignant head ! 
I am but human, though the tale be true 

Which curses me with life, while life may last ; 
And the long future which doth mock my view, 

But makes me cling more closely to the past. 
Leave me not ! — ^leave me not ! — whate'er I be. 

Thou surely shouldst not judge me, nor forsake ; 
If not by ties of nature bound to thee. 

Sure there are other ties man msty not break. 
Leave me not ! — leave me not ! I am not changed. 

Though thou but now hast heard my tale of sin : 
I still can love thee, boy, as when we ranged, 

Hand link'd in hand, those pleasant bowers within : 
I know that other men will gaze and scoff 

As the lone desolate one doth journey on ; 
I know that human things will cast me oiF — 

But thou ! — ^forsake me not — my son ! — ^my son !* 



" He shook — the deep sob labour'd in his breast — 
Then sprang to me with a convulsive cry ; 

And, as my head sank on that place of rest, 
Mingled with mine hot tears of agony. 

And she, his fairy bride — she did not shrink, 
But clung to me, as if she wish'd to prove, 



CANTO II. 57 

When sorrow's cup is brimming to the brink, 

How weak is woman's fear to woman's love ! 
Oh ! naught of self is in their gentle hearts. 

The things we tempt — and trample when they fall, 
Danger and death — the dread that sin imparts, 

Sadden, but shake not — they will love through all. 
And we return'd, we three, unto our home — 

The home that had been ours in peace so long, 
And sunshine seem'd upon our hearts to come. 

As that young bride pour'd forth her evening song. 



" The morning dawn'd, and glad I wander'd out 

Where the young flowers hung clustering about : 

And a rich wreath I wove for her who slept. 

Where nature's pearly drops still freshly wept. 

That dark blue morning brighten'd into day — 

But none came forth — oh ! where, my heart, were they ? 

I sought them in the little shady grove. 

Where their young lips first learn'd to breathe of love ; 

I sought them by the fountain's playful stream, 

Where they were wont of happiness to dream ; 

I call'd them out to breathe the open day — 

But none came forth — oh ! where, my heart, were they ? 

That heart beat thick — I enter'd where the couch 

Bedeck'd with flowers had woo'd their fond approach ; 

I gazed around — no sign of life was there ; 

My voice unanswer'd died upon the air ; 

The yet unfaded flowers were blooming gay — 

But none came forth — oh ! where, my heart, were they ? 

Where were they ! — ay, where were they ? once again 

I sought them, though I felt the search was vain — 

Through every well-known path and sunny spot 

I sought those truants — but I found them not ; 



58 THE UNDYING ONE. 

And when at length the weary day was done, 

I sat me down, and knew I was alone. 

Oh ! had a sob, a sound, but broke my sleep — 

Had I but been allow'd to rise and weep — 

Convulsively to strain them, ere they went, 

To my chill'd breast ; to give my anguish vent ; 

Methought I could have borne it ; but to rise 

And glad me in the fresh and waking skies — 

To greet the sun with joyfulness,-^to wait, 

Expecting them, and yet be desolate ; 

To twine those flowers, and see them fade away 

Frail as the hopes that sicken'd with the day ; 

To groan and listen, and to groan again, 

While Echo only answer'd to my pain ; 

To start from feverish dreams, and breathe unheard 

Loud words of welcome to that vision'd pair ; 
To listen in my sleep some singing bird, 

And wake and find it was not Zara there ; 
To stretch my eager arms those forms to bind, 
And with redoubled bitterness to find 
The shadowy vision gone I loved to trace, 
And darkness where had beam'd each youthful face :— 
This was my lot — and this I learnt to bear, 
And cursed the human links which bound me still to care. 



THE UNDYING ONE. 



CANTO III. 



" There is a sound the autumn wind doth make 

Howling and moaning, listlessly and low : 
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break 
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so. 
The visions that crost 
Our path in light — 
The things that we lost 
In the dim dark night — • 
The faces for which we vainly yearn — 
The voices whose tones will not return — 
That low sad wailing breeze doth brmg 
Borne on its swift and rushing wing. 
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud, 
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud 1 
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth, 
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth 1 
If such an evening, tho' but one^ 
It hath been yours to spend alone — 
Never, — though years may roll along 
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song ; 
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before, 
When louder perchance it used to roar — 



60 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Never shall sound of that wintry gale 
Be aught to you but a voice of wail ! 
So o'er the careless heart and eye 
The storms of the world go sweeping by ; 
But oh ! when once we have learn'd to weep, 
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep. 
Let one of our airy joys decay — 
Let one of our blossoms fade away — 
And all the griefs that others share 
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear : 
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind, 
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind ! 



" I went through the world, but I paused not now 
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow : 
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark 
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark : 
And the grief of others, though sad to see. 
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me ! 
" I saw the inconstant lover come to take 

Farewell of her he loved in better days ; 
And coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break — 

Which beat so fondly at his words of praise. 
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing, 
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring, 
When misery and years had done their worst 
To wither her away. The big tears burst 
From out her flashing eyes, which turn'd on him 
With agony, reproach, and fear, while dim 
Each object swam in her uncertain sight, 
And nature's glories took the hue of night. 
There was, in spite of all her passion's storm, 
A wild revolting beauty in her form ; 



CANTO III. 61 

A "beauty as of sin, when first she comes 
To tempt us from our calm and pleasant homes. 
Her voice, with the appealing tone it took. 
Her soft clear voice, belied her fearless look : 
And woman's tenderness seem'd still to dwell 
In that full bosom's agonizing swell. 
And he stood there, the worshipp'd one of years — 
Sick of her fondness— ^angry at her tears ; 
Choking the loathing words which rose within 
The heart whose passion tempted her to sin ; 
While with a strange sad smile lost hours she mourns, 
And prays and weeps, and weeps and prays by turns. 
A moment yet he paused, and sigh'd — a sigh 
Of deep, deep bitterness ; and on his eye 
Love's gentle shadow rested for a space — 
And faded feelings brighten'd o'er his face. 
'Twas but a moment, and he turn'd in wrath 
To quench the sunshine on her lonely path. 
And his lip curl'd, as on that alter'd cheek 
His cold glance rested — while, all famt and weak, 
With tearful sad imploring gaze she stood. 
Watching with trembling heart his changeful mood ; 
Her thin lips parted with a ghastly smile. 
She strove to please — yet felt she fail'd the while. 
And thus his words burst forth : ' And dost thou dare 
Reproach me with the burden of thy care 1 
Accuse thy self-wilFd heart, where passion reign'd ; 
Some other hand the hly might have stain'd. 
For thou didst listen when none else approved. 
Proud in thy strength, and eager to be loved. 
Rose of the morning, how thy leaves are gone ! 
How art thou faded since the sunrise shone ! 
Think not my presence was the cause of all — 
Oh no, thy folly would have made thee fall : 
6* 



62 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Alike thy woe — alike the oause of blame — 

Another tempter, but thine act the same. 

And tell me not of all I said or swore : 

Poor wretch ! art thou as in the days of yore 1 

Thing of the wanton heart and faded brow, 

Whate'er I said or did — I loathe thee now P 

The frozen tears sank back beneath the lid. 

Whose long black lashes half their sadness hid — 

And with a calm and steadfast look, which spoke 

Unutterable scorn, her spirit woke : — 

' And thou art he, for whom my young heart gave 

All hope of pardon on this side the grave ! 

For whom I still have struggled on, for years, 

Through days of bitterness and nights of tears ! — 

True, I am changed since that bright summer's day, 

When first from home love lured my steps to stray : 

And true it is that art hath sought to hide 

The work of woe which all my words belied ; — 

But for whose sake have I with watchful care. 

Though sick at heart, endeavour'd to be fair 1 

For whom, when daylight broke along the skies, 

Have I with fear survey'd my weeping eyes 1 

For whom, with trembling fingers sought to dress 

Each woe-worn feature with mock loveliness 1 

Chased the pale sickness from my darken'd brow, 

And strove to listen, calm as I do now 1 

For whom — if not for thee ? — Oh ! had I been 

Pure as the stainless lily — were each scene 

Of guilt and passion blotted from that book 

Where weepingly and sad the angels look — 

Did I stand here the calm approved wife. 

Bound to thee by the chain that binds for life — 

Could I have loved thee more % The dream is past — 

I who forsook, am lonely at the last ! 



I 



CANTO III. ' 63 

One hour ago, the thought that we must part, 

And part for ever, would have broke my heart : 

But noiu — I cast thee from me ! Go and seek 

To pale the roses on a fresher cheek. 

Why linger'st thou 1 Dost fear, when thou art gone, 

My woman's heart will wake, and live alone 1 

Fear not — the specious tongue whose well-feign'd tale 

Hath lured the dove to leave her native vale, 

May use its art some other to beguile : 

And the approving world — will only smile. 

But she who sins, and suffers for that sin. 

Who throws the dangerous die, and doth not win — 

Loves once — and loves no more !' He glided by, 

And she turned from him with a shuddering sigh. 



" I saw the widower mournftil stand. 
Gazing out on the sea and the land ; 
O'er the yellow corn, and the waving trees, 
And the blue stream rippling in the breeze. 
Oh ! beautiful seem the earth and sky- 
Why doth he heave that bitter sigh 1 
Vain are the sunshine and brightness to him — 
His heart is heavy, his eyes are dim. 
His thoughts are not with the moaning sea. 
Though his gaze be fix'd on it vacantly : 
His thoughts are far where the dark boughs wave 
O'er the silent rest of his Mary's grave. 
He starts, and brushes away the tear ; 
For the soft small voices are in his ear. 
Of the bright-hair'd angels his Mary left 
To comfort her lonely and long bereft. 
With a gush of sorrow he turns to press 
His little ones close with a fond caress, 



64 THE UNDYING ONE. 

And they sigh — oh ! not because Mary sleeps, 

For she is forgotten — but that he weeps. 

Yes ! she is forgotten — ^the patient love, 

The tenderness of that meek-eyed dove, 

The voice that rose on the evening air 

To bid them kneel to the God of prayer, 

The joyous tones that greeted them, when 

After a while she came again. 

The pressure soft of her rose-leaf cheek, 

The touch of her hand, as white and weak 

She laid it low on each shining head. 

And bless'd the sons of the early dead : 

All is forgotten — all past away 

Like the fading close of a summer's day : 

Or the sound of her voice (though they scarce can tell 

Whose voice it was, that they loved so well) 

Comes with their laughter, a short sweet dream — 

As the breeze blows over the gentle stream. 

Rippling a moment its quiet breast. 

And leaving it then to its sunny rest. 

But he ! — oh ! deep in his inmost soul. 

Which hath drunk to the dregs of sorrow's bowl — 

Her look — and her smile — the lightest word 

Of the musical voice he so often heard. 

And never may hear on earth again. 

Though he love it more than he loved it then — 

Are buried — to rise at times unbid 

And force hot tears to the burning lid : 

The mother that bore her may learn to forget. 

But he will remember and weep for her yet ! 

Oh ! while the heart where her head hath lain 

In its hours of joy, in its sighs of pain ; 

While the hand which so ofl hath been clasp'd in hers 

In the twilight hour when nothing stirs — 



CANTO III. 65 

Beat with the deep, full pulse of life — 

Can he forget his gentle wife ? 

Many may love him, and he in truth 

May love ; but not with the love of his youth : 

Ever amid his joy will come 

A stealing sigh for that long-loved home, 

And her step and her voice will go gliding by 

In the desolate halls of his memory ! 



" I saw a father weeping, when the last 

Of all his dear ones from his sight had past — 

The young lamb, in his solitary fold. 

Who should have buried Am, for he was old. 

Silently she had passed away from earth. 

Beloved by none but him who gave her birth : 

And now he sat, with haggard look and wild, 

By the lone tomb of his forgotten child : — 



* None remember thee ! thou whose heart 

Pour'd love on all around. 
Thy name no anguish can impart — 

'Tis a forgotten sound. 
Thine old companions pass me by 
With a cold bright smile and a vacant eye — 

And none remember thee 
Save me ! 



* None remember thee ! thou wert not 
Beauteous as some things are ; 

No glory boamVl upon thy lot, 
Mv pale and quiet star; 
6* 



66 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Like a winter bud that too soon hath burst, 
Thy cheek was fading from the first — 
And none remember thee 
Save me ! 



* None remember thee ! they could spy- 
Naught, when they gazed on thee ; 

But thy soul's deep love in thy quiet eye- 
It hath pass'd from their memory. 

The gifts of genius were not thine 

Proudly before the world to shine-^ 
And none remember thee 
Save me ! 



* None remember thee ! now thou 'rt gone, 
Or they could not choose but weep, — 

When they think of thee, my gentle one, 
In thy long and lonely sleep. 

Fain would I murmur thy name, and tell 

How fondly together we used to dwell — 
But none remember thee 
Save me P 



" I saw a husband, and a guilty wife. 
Who once made all the sunshine of his life, 
Kneeling upon the threshold of her home. 
Where heavily her weary feet had come : 
A faded form, a humble brow, are hers — 
The livery which sinful sorrow wears : 
While with deep agony she lifts her eyes. 
And prays him to forgive her, ere she dies ! 



CANTO III. 67 

Long days — ^long days swell in his broken heart, 
When death had seem'd less bitter than to part- 
When in her innocence her hush'd lip spoke 
The faint confession of the love he woke ; 
And the first kiss on that pure cheek impress'd, 
Made her shrink, trembling, from his faithful breast. 
And after years when her light footstep made 
Most precious music — when in sun or shade 
She was the same bright, happy, loving thing — 
Low at his feet she now lies withering ! 
His half-stretch'd hand already bids her be 
Forgiven and at peace — his kindly eye 
Is turn'd on her through tears, to think that she, 
His purely-loved, should bide such agony. # 

Already on his tongue the quivering word 
Of comfort trembles, though as yet unheard ; 
Already he hath bent o'er that pale face : 
Why starts he, groaning, from her wild embrace 1 
Oh ! as she clasp'd his knees, her full heart woke 
To all its tenderness — a murmur broke 
Forth from her lip ; the cherished name of one 
Whose image dwelt when purity was gone, 
Secure amid the ruins of lost things, 
Filling her soul with soft imaginings, 
Like a lone flower within the moss-grown halls 
Where echo vainly unto echo calls. 
Deep wrath, and agony, and vain despair. 
Are painted on his brow who hears her prayer, 
' Breathe not her name — it is a sound 

Of fearfulness and dread. 
Seest thou no trace of tears around ? 

Yet have salt tears been shed ! 
Thy babe who nestled at thy breast, 

And laugh'd u])on thy knee ; 



68 irSE UJfDYING ONE. 

That creature of the quiet re?^ 

Thy child— — was too like thee ! 
The careless fawn that lightly springs— 

The rosebud in the dew — 
The fair of nature's fairy things — • 

Like them thy daughter grew. 
And then she left her father's side. 
Not, woman ! as a happy bride, 
With a tearful smile, half sad, half meek ; 
The flush of guilt was on her cheek : 
And in the desert wilds I sought — 

And in the haunts of meii^ 
Woman ! what thou hast felt is naught 

To what I suffer'd then. 
I thought that — ^but it may not be-^ 
I thought I could have pardon'd thee ; 
. But when I dream of her, and think 
Thy steps led on to ruin's brink — - 
Oh, she is gone, and thou art here' 

Where ye both were of yore — 
To mock with late, repentant tear 

Hopes which may come no more ! 
Hadst thou, frail wretch, been by her still, 
To shield her gentle head from ill — 
To do thy mother's part — ^but go — 
I will not curse thee, in my woe : 
Only, depart ! — and haply when 

Lonely and left I die. 
Thy pardon'd form shall rise again 

And claim one parting sigh 1' 
He closed on her the portal of her home, 
Where never more her weary feet may come — 
And their wrung hearts are sever'd till that day 
When God shall hear, and judge the things of clay. 



CANTOIII. 69 

" I saw the parricide raving stand, 

With a rolling eye and a bloody hand ; 

Through his thick chill veins the curdling stream 

Flows dark and languid. No sunny beam 

Can wake the deep pulse of his heart to joy, 

Since he raised his murderous hand to destroy. 

By day, by night, no pause is given 

Of hope to the soul accursed by Heaven. 

Through the riotous feast ; through his own dull groans ; 

Through the musical sound of his loved one's tones ; 

Through the whispering breath of the evening air, 

Falters the old man's dying prayer. 

Few were the words he spoke as he sank ; 

And the greedy poniard his life-blood drank : 

* Spare me, my son, I will yield thee all.' 

Oh, what would the murderer give to recall 

One murmuring sigh to that silent tongue, 

"Whieh in infancy sought his ear to please : 
One pulse of life, to the hands that clung 

Feebly and tremblingly round his knees ! 
In vain ! he hath won the gold he sought ; 
And the burning agony of thought 
Shall haunt him still, till he lays his head 
With a shuddering groan on his dying bed ! 



* I saw a young head bow'd in its deep woe, 
Ev'n unto death ; and sad, and faint, and slow, 
As she sat loirely in her hall of tears, 
Her lips address'd. some shade of other years : 

' Oh ! dear to the eyes that are weeping 

Was thy form, my lost love : 
Though the heart where thine image is sleeping, 
Its truth might not prove. 



70 THE UNDYING ONE. 

I have wept and tum'd from thee, for fear thou shouldst 

trace 
All the love that 1 bore thee, deep writ on my face. 
But oh [ could we once more be meeting, 

As then^ love, we met : 
Could I feel that fond heart of thine beating,- 
Close, close, to mine yet : 
I would cling to thee, dearest, nor fear thou shouldst 

guess 
How deeply thy welcome had power to bless. 
Oh I 'tis not for a day, or an hour, 

I part from thee now, 
To weep and shake off, like a flower, 
The tears from my brow : 
'Tls to sit dreaming idly of days that are gone. 
And start up to rem^ember — that I am alone. 

They say that my heart hath recover'd 

The deep bitter blow ; 
That the cloud which for long days hath hover'd 
Is gone from my brow ; 
That my eyes do not weep, and my lips wear a smile, 
It is true — ^but T do not forget thee the while. 

Oh, they know not, amidst all my gladness, 

Thy shadow is there : 
They feel not the deep thrill of sadness. 
Nor the soul's lone despair. 
They see not the sudden quick pang, when thy name 
Is carelessly utter'd, to praise or to blame ! 

If to gaze on each long-treasur'd token 

Till bitter tears flow, 
And to wonder my heart is not broken 
By the weight of its woe : 
To join in the world's loud and 'wildering din 
While a passionate feeling is choking within : 



CANTO III. 71 

If to yearn, in the arms that once bound thee, 

To lean down my head ; 
With the dear ones who used to come round thee, 
Salt tear-drops to shed : 
If to list to the voice that is like thine, in vain ; 
And to feel its dim echo ring wild through my brain : 
If to dream there were pleasure in meeting 

Those who once were with thee : 
To murmur a sad farewell greeting 
Then sink on my knee : 
With my straining hands clasp'd to the heavens in prayer, 
And my choked bosom heaving with grief and despair : 
If to sit and to think of thee only. 

While they laugh round the hearth : 
And feel my full heart grow more lonely 
At the sound of their mirth : — 
If this be forgetting thee, dear one and good — 
Forget thee — forget thee — Oh God ! that I could! * 



" I saw the child of parents poor, 

Dreaming with pain of her cottage door ; 

Which she left for the splendour which may not cheer — 

Pomp hath not power to dry one tear. 

The palace — the sunshine — what are they to her 

'Mid the heart's full throb, and the bosom's stir ? 

The picture that rises bedimm'd with tears, 

Is an aged woman, bow'd down by years ; 

Sitting alone in her evening's close. 

And feebly weeping for many woes. 

Her thin hands are weaving the endless thread. 

Her faded eyes gaze where her daughter fled, 

O'er the moss-grow^l copse and the wooded hill : 

* Oh ! would that I were witli mv mother still ! 



72 THE UNDYING ONE. 

That I were with her who rear'd me up — 

(And I fill'd to the brim her sorrow's cup) — • 

That I were with her who taught me to pray 

At the morning's dawn and the close of day — 

That I were with her whose harshest look 

Was half of sorrow and half rebuke. 

Oh ! the depth of my sin I never could see, 

But I feel it now with the babe on my knee.' 

The high proud gaze of her scornful eye 

Is quench'd with the tears for days gone by : 

And her little one starts from its broken rest. 

Woke by the sobs of that heaving breast. 

She gazes with fear on its undimm'd brow — 

What are the thoughts that lurk below ? 

Perchance, like her own, the day will come 

When its name shall be hush'd in its parent's home ! 

When the hearts that cherish its lightest tone. 

Shall wish that the sound from earth were gone. 

Perchance it is doom'd to an early grave. 

Or a struggling death on the stormy wave ; 

Or the fair little dimpled hand that clings 

So fast in her soft hair's shining rings, 

May be dark with the blood of his fellow-men, 

And the clanking chain hang round it then. 

Haply, forgetting her patient care. 

The young, bright creature slumbering there, 

Shall forsake her — as she hath forsaken them — 

For a heavy heart and a diadem ! 

She clasps it strong with a burning kiss — 

' Oh God ! in thy mercy, spare me this.'' 



" I saw a widow by her cherish'd son. 

Ere all of light, and life, and hope, was gone- 



I 



CANTO 111, 73 

When the last dying glance was faintly raised, 
Ere death with withering power the brightness glazed 
Of those deep heavenly eyes : a glance which seem'd 
To ask her, if the world where he had dream'd 
Such dreams of happiness with her, must be 
Forsaken in the spring-tide of his glee : 
If he indeed must die. I saw her take 
His hand, and gaze, as if her heart would break, 
On his pale brow and languid limbs of grace, 
And wipe the death-dew gently from his face. 
I saw her after, when the unconscious clay, 
Deaf to her wild appeals, all mutely lay, 
With brow upturn'd and parted lips, whose hue 
Was scarce more pale than hers, who met my view. 
She stood, and wept not in her deep despair, 
But press'd her lips upon his shining hair 
With a long bitter kiss, and then with grief — 
Like hers of old, who pray'd and found relief — (^) 
She groan'd to God, and watch'd to see him stir. 
But, ah ! no prophet came, to raise him up for her! 



" I saw the orphan go forth in dread 

Through the pitiless world, and turn to gaze 
Once more on the dark and narrow bed 
Where sleep the authors of her days. 
Well may she weep them, for never more, 
After she turns from that cottage door. 
Will her young heart beat to a kindly word. 
Such as in early days she heard : 
Or her young eye shine, as she hastens her pace 
To bask in the light of a loved one's face. 
Her lot is cast ; 
Her hope is past ; 
7 



74 THE UNDYING ONE. 

The careless, the cold, and the cruel may come 
To gaze on the orphan, and pass her by : 

But a word, or a sound, or a look of home — 
For them she must bow her head, and die ! 

" I saw the dark and city-clouded spot, 

Where, by his busy patrons all foi^ot. 

The young sad poet dreams of better days, 

And gives his genius forth in darken'd rays. 

Chill o'er his soul, gaunt poverty hath thrown 

Her veil of shadows, as he sighs alone ; 

And, withering up the springs and streams of youth, 

Left him to feel misfortune's bitter truth. 

And own with deep, impassion'd bitterness. 

Who would describe — must faintly feel, distress. 

Slowly he wanders, with a languid pace. 

To the small window of his hiding-place. 

Pressing with straining force, all vainly now. 

His hot, weak fingers on his throbbing brow ; 

And seeking for bright thoughts, which care and pain 

Have driven from his dim and 'wilder'd brain. 

He breathes a moment that unclouded air. 

And gazes on the face of nature there — 

Longing for fresh wild flowers and verdant fields, 

And all the joys the open sunshine yields : 

Then turning, he doth rest his heavy eye 

Where his torn papers in confusion lie. 

And raves awhile, and seats himself again, 

To toil and strive for thoughts and words, in vain : 

Till he can bid his drooping fancy feel. 

And barter genius, for a scaiity meal ! 

" I 've been where fell disease a war hath waged 
Against yoimg joy, — where pestilence hath raged, 



CANTOIII. 75 

And beauty had departed from the earth 

With none to weep her. — I have seen the birth 

Of the lorn infant, greeted but with tears, 

And dim forebodings, and remorseful fears, 

When to the weary one the grave would show 

Less dreadful than a long, long life of woe. 

I Ve been in prisons, where in lone despair, 

Barr'd from God's precious gifts, the sun and air, 

The debtor pines, whom, for a little gold. 

His fellow man in iron chains would hold : 

There have I seen the bright inquiring eye 

Fade into dull and listless vacancy ; 

There have I seen the meek grow stern and wild ; 

And the strong man sit weeping like a child ; 

Till God's poor tortured creatures in their heart 

Were fain to curse their Maker, and depart. (') 

All have I seen — and I have watch'd apart 

The fruitless struggles of a breaking heart, 

Bruised, crush'd, and wounded by the spoiler's power, 

And left to wither like a trodden flower ; 

Till I have learnt with ease each thought to trace 

That flush'd across the fair and fading face. 

And known the source of tears, which day by day 

Weakness hath shed, and pride hath brush'd away. 



" It was in Erin — in the autumn time. 

By the broad Shannon's banks of beauty roaming ; 
I saw a scene of mingled woe and crime — 

Oh ! even to mij sear'd eyes the tears seem'd coming ! 
It was a mother standing gaunt and wild 
Working her soul to murder her young child, 
Who lay unconscious in its soft repose 
Upon the breast that heaved with many woes. 



76 THE UNDYING ONE, 

She stood beside the waters, but her eyes 
Were not upon the river^ nor the skies, 
Nor on the fading things of earth. Her soul 
Was rapt in bitterness — and evening stole 
Chill o^er her fbra>, while yet with nerveless hand 
She sought to throw her burden from the land. 
Twas pitiful to see her strive in vain, 
Rise sternly up, then naelt to love again ; 
With horrible energy, and lip compress'd, 
Hold forth her child — then strain it to her breasfe 
Convulsively ; as if some gentle thought 
Of all its helpless beauty first was brought 
Into her 'wilder'd mind — the sofl faint smiles, 
Whose charm the mother of her tears beguiles^ 
Which speak not aught of mirth or merriment, 
But of fiill confidence, and deep content. 
And ignorance of woe : — the murmured sounds 

Which were to her a language, rise up now — 
And, like a torrent bursting from its bounds, 

Swell in her heart, and shoot across her brow. 
Oh r she who plans its death in her despair^ 
Hath tended it with fond and watchful care ; 
Hath borne it wearily for many a niile. 
Repaid with one fond glance, or gentle smile : 
Hath watch'd through long dark nights with patient love, 
When some light sickness struck her nestling dove ; 
And yearn'd to bear its pain, when that meek eye 
Turn'd on her, with appealing agony ! 
Look on her now I — that faint and feverish start 
Hath waken'd all the mother in her heart : 
That feeble cry hath thrill'd her very frame ; — 
Was it for murder such a sofl heart came ? 
She will not do it — Fool \ the spirit there 
Is stronger fiir than love — ^it is despair t 



CANTO III. 77 

Mothers alone may read that mother's woe : 

Her heart may break — ^but she will strike the blow. 

Once more she pauses ; bending o'er its face, 

Calm and unconscious in its timid grace ; 

Then murmurs to it by the chilly wave, 

Ere one strong effort dooms it to the grave : — 

' Thou of the sinless breast ! 
Which passion hath not heaved, nor dark remorse 
Swell'd with its full and agonizing curse — 

Lo ! thou art come to rest ! 



* Warm in thy guileless heart, 

Whose slight quick pulses soon shall beat no more : 
Hear'st thou the strong trees rock ? — the loud winds roar ? 
I and my child must part ! 

* Deep 'neath the sullen sky, 

And the dark waters which do boil and foam, 
Greedy to take thee to their silent home — 
My little one must lie ! 

* Peace to thy harmless soul ! 

There is a heaven where thou mayst dwell in peace ; 
Where the dark howling of the waters cease, 
Which o'er thy young head roll. 

' There, in the blue still night, 
Thou'lt watch, where stars are gleaming from the sky, 
O'er the dark spot where thou wert doom'd to die, 

And smile, a cherub bright:^ 
7* 



" A plasli upon the waves— a lovr 

Half^stiffed sob, whicJi seem'd as tliough 

The choked 'bl*eath fought against the stteam— » 

And all Was silent as a dream. 

Then rose the shl-iek that might not stay^ 

Though much that soul had briaved ^ 
And ere its echo died away, 

Her little one was saved. 
Buddeii I plmiged, and panting caught 

The bright and floating hair, 
Which on the Waters lustre brought, 

As if 'twere sunshine there. 
I stood beside that form of want and siri,- 

That miserable woman in her tears ; 
Who wept as though she had not cast it in 

To perish with the sorrows of past years* 
She thank'd me with a bitter thankfulness, 

- And thus I spoke : ' Oh I woman, if it is 
Sickness and poverty, and lone distress. 

That prompted thee to do a deed like thiSy 
Take gold, and wander forth, and let me be 
A parent to the child renounced by thee !' 
Greedily did she gaze upon the gold. 

With a wild avarice in her hollow eye ; 
And stretch' d lier thin damp fingers, clammy cold, 

To seize the glittering ore with ecstasy. 
But when 1 ciaim'd the littl-e helpless thing, 

For whose young life that gold had paid the worth 5 
Close to the breast where it lay shivering, 

She strain'd it gaspingly, and then burst forth : — 



' I would have slain it ! Fool 1 'tis true I would ; 



Because I saw it pine, and bad no food : 



CANto rii. 79 

Because I could not bear its faint frail cry, 
Which told my brain such tales of agony : 
Because its dumb petitioning glances said, 
Am I thy child 1 and canst not give me bread t 
Because, while faint and droopingly it lay 
Within my failing arms from day to day, 
Tlie tigress rose within my soul — -I could 
Have slam a man, and bid it lap his blood ! 
My little one ! — my uncomplaining child ! 
Whose lengthen'd misery drove thy mother wild, 
Did they believe that aught but death could part 
These nestling limbs from her poor tortured heart 1 
No ! had the slimy waters gurgled o'er 
Thy corpse, and wash'd the slippery reed'grown shore, 
Leaving no trace, except in my despair. 
Of what had once disturbed the stillness there— 
I could have gazed upon it, and not wept ; 
For calmly then my little one had slept. 
No nightly moans would then have MTung my soul ; 
No daylight withering bid the tear-drop rolb 
In my dark hours of misery and w*ant, 
The memory of thy pallid face might haunt, 
Not, not to wring my heart with vain regret, 
But to remind what thou hadst suffer'd yet, 
If from life's wretchedness I had not freed 
Thy grateful soul, which thank'd me for the deed* 
I lost thee — but I have thee here again. 
Close to the heart which now can feel no pain< 
Cling to me! — let me feel that velvet cheek — ■ 
Look at me, with those eyes so dove-like meek ! 
Press thy pale lips to mine, and let me be 
Repaid for all I have endured for thee. 
Part from thee ! — never ! while this arm hath strength 
To hold thee to the bosom where thou liest: 



80 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Praise be to God, bright days have dawn'd at length ! 

I need not watch thy struggles as thou diest. 
Part from thee ! never— -no, my pale sweet flower ! 

The wealth of worlds would bribe my heart in vain, 
Though 'twere to give thee up for one short hour — 

Take back thy gold — -I have my babe again ! 
Yet give me food, and 1 will clasp thy knees. 

And night and day will kneel for thee to Heaven ; 
Else will a lingering death of slow disease. 

Or famine gaunt, be all that thou hast given. 
And when I die — then, then be kind' — She ceased : 

Her parted lips were tinged with crimson gore, 
Her faint hand half, and only half, released 

The unconscious form she had been weeping o'er : 
Worn nature could not bear the sudden strife ; 
I look'd upon her — ^but there was no life ! 



* That little outcast grew a fairy girl, 

A beautiful, a most beloved one. 
There was a charm in every separate curl 

Whose rings of jet hung glistening in the sun, 
Which warm'd her marble brow. There was a grace 

Peculiar to herself, ev'n from the first : 
Shadows and thoughtfulness you seem'd to trace 

Upon that brow, and then a sudden burst 
Of sunniness and laughter sparkled out, 
And spread their rays of joyfulness about, 
Like the wild music of her native land, 
Which wakes to joy beneath the minstrel's hand. 
Yet at Its close gives forth a lingering tone — 
Sad, as if mourning that its mirth is gone, 
And leaves that note to dwell within your heart, 
When all the sounds of joyfulness depart : 



C A N T O 1 1 1 . 81 

So in her heart's full chords there seem'd to be 
A strange and wild, but lovely melody : 
Half grief — half gladness — but the sadness still 
Hanging like shadows on a summer rill. 
And when her soul from its deep silence woke 
And from her lip sweet note of answer broke, 
^Memory in vain would seek the smile that play'd 
TV ith her slow words, like one beam in the shade ; 
Her sorrow hung upon your heart for years — 
And all her sweet smiles darken'd into tears. 
I loved her, as a father loves his child : 
For she was dutiful, and fond, and mild, 
As children should be — and she ripen'd on 
Like a young rosebud opening to the sun ; 
Till the full light of womanhood was shed, 
Like a soft glory, round about her head. 
In all my wanderings, through good and ill, 
In storm and sunshine, she was wdth me still ; 
Not like a cold, sad shadow, forced to glide 
Weary — unloved — unnoticed by my side : 
But with her whole heart's worship, ever near, 
To love, to smile, to comfort, and to cheer. 
Her gentle soul would fear to hurt a worm ; 
Yet danger found her unappall'd and firm : 
Her lip might blanch, but her unalter'd eye 
Said, I am ready for thy sake to die. 
She stood by me and fear'd not, in that place 
When the scared remnant of my wretched race 
Gave England's Richard gifts, to let them be (') 
All unmolested in their misery : 
And while their jewels sparkled on his hand, 
His traitor lips gave forth the dark command 
Which, midst a drunken nation's loud carouse. 
Sent unexpected death from house to house, 



g2 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Bade strong arms strike, where none their force withstood, 

And woman's wail be quench'd in woman's blood. 

She stood by me and fear'd not, when again, ' 

A bloody death cut short a life of pain ; 

When, with red glaring eyes and desperate force, 

Brother laid brother low, a prostrate corpse, (*) 

Eather than yield their bodies up to those. 

In word, in act, and in religion — foes. 

She gazed and fainted not, while all around 

They lay like slaughter'd cattle on the ground ; 

With the wide gash in each extended throat. 

Calling for vengeance to the God who smote 

On Israel's side, ere Israel fell away. 

And in her guilt was made the stranger's prey. 

" And after that, we dwelt in many lands, 
And wander'd through the desert's burning sands ; 
Where, strange to say, young Miriam sigh'd to be : 
Where nature lay stretch'd out so silently 
Beneath the glorious sun, and here and there 
The fountains bubbled up, as fresh and fair 
As if the earth were fill'd with them, and none 
In their last agonizing thirst sank down. 
With eyes turn'd sadly to far distant dreams 
Of unseen gushing waters, and cool streams. 



« There is a little island all alone 

In the blue Mediterranean ; and we went 

Where never yet a human foot had gone, 

And dwelt there, and young Miriam was content. 

There was a natural fomitain, where no ray 

Of light or warmth had ever found its way 



CANTO III. 83 

Thick clustered o'er with flowers ; and there she made 

A bower of deep retirement and shade ; 

And proud she was, when, rosy with the glow 

Of triumph and exertion, she could show 

Her palace of green leaves, — and watch my eyes 

For the expected glance of pleased surprise. 

Oh ! she was beautiful ! — if ever earth 

To aught of breathing loveliness gave birth. 



" One evening — one sweet evening, as we stood, 

Silently gazing on the silent flood : 

A sudden thought rose swelling in my heart : 

Ought my sweet Miriam thus to dwell apart 

From human kind 1 So good, so pure, so bright, 

So form'd to be a fervent heart's delight : 

Was she to waste the power and will to bless 

In ministering to my loneliness ? 

And then a moment's glance took in her life — 

I saw my Miriam a blessed wife ; 

I saw her with fair children round her knee, 

I heard their voices in that home of glee. 

And turn'd to gaze on her ; — if ever yet 

Turning with shadowy hope, and vain regret. 

And consciousness of secret guilt or woe. 

Thine eyes have rested on the open brow 

Of sinless childhood — thou hast known what I 

Felt, when my glance met jMiriam's cloudless eye. 

Oh ! Thought, thou mould where misery is cast — 

Thou joiner of the present with the past — 

Eternal torturer ! wherefore can we not 

Through all our life be careless of our lot 

As in our early years ? — No cares to come 

Threw their vain shadow o'er her bosom's home ; 



84 THE UNDYING ONE. 

No bitter sorrow, with its vain recall, 
Poison'd her hope — the present hour was all. 
I gazed on her — and as a slow smile broke 

Of meek affection round her rosy mouth, 
I thought the simple words mj heart would choke, 

' Would Miriam weep to leave the sunny south V 
Silent she stood — then, in a tone scarce heard, 
Falter'd forth, ' Father !' Oh ! it wrung, that word ; 
And snatching her with haste unto my breast. 
Where in her childhood's hour of sunny rest 
Calmly her innocent head had often slept. 
With a strange sense of misery — I wept. 



" Oh ! weary days, oh ! weary days. 

Of flattery and empty praise, 

When in the tainted haunts of men 

My Miriam was brought again. 

With vacant gaze and gentle sigh. 

She turned her from them m.ournfully ; 

As if she rather felt, than saw, 

That they were near : — they scarce could draw 

A word of answer from her tongue. 

Where once such merry music rung. 

Save when the island was their theme — 

And then, as waking from a dream. 

Her soft eye lighted for a while. 

And round her mouth a playful smile 

Stole for a moment, and then fled. 

As if the hojie within were dead. 

Where'er I gazed, where'er I went. 

Her earnest look was on me bent, 

Stealthily, as she wish'd to trace 

Her term of exile on my face. 



C A N T I I T . 85 

And many sought her hand in vain. 
With pleading voice, and look of pain, 
Weepinglj she would turn away 
When I besought her to be gay : 
And resolutely firm, withstood 
The noble and the great of blood ; 
Though they woo'd humbly, as they woo 
Who scarcely hope for what they sue. 
Oh ! glad was Miriam, when at last 
I deem'd our term of absence past : 
And as her light foot quickly sprang 
From out our bark, 'twas thus she sang : — 



' The world ! the sunny world ! I love 

To roam untired, till evening throws 
Sweet shadows through the pleasant grove. 

And bees are murmuring on the rose. 
I love to see the changeful flowers 

Lie blushing in the glowing day — 
Bend down their heads to 'scape the showers, 

Then shake the chilly drops away. 



* The world ! the sunny world ! oh, bright 

And beautiful indeed thou art — 
The brilliant day, the dark blue night, 

Bring joy — but not to every heart. 
No ! till, like flowers, those hearts can fling 

Grief's drops from off* their folded leaves, 
'Twill only smile in hope's bright spring. 

And darken when the spirit grieves.' 



86 THE UNDYING ONE. 

" She was return'd ; but yet she grew not glad ; 
Her cheek wore not the freshness which it had. 
The withering of the world, like the wild storm 
Over a tender blossom, left her form 
With traces of the havoc that had been, 
Ev'n in the sunny calm, and placid scene. 
Her brow was darken'd with a gentle cloud ; 
Her step was slower, and her laugh less loud ; 
And oft her sweet voice falter'd, though she said 
Nothing in which deep meaning could be read. 
I watch'd her gestures when she saw me not. 
And once — (oh ! will that evening be forgot T) 
I stole upon her, when she little thought 
Aught but the naoaning wind her whispers caught. 



" She sat within her bower, where the sun 

Linger'd, as loth to think his task was done ; 

And languidly she raised her heavy gaze, 

To meet the splendour of his parting rays. 

O'er the smooth cheek which rested on her hand ; 

Down the rich curls by evening breezes fann'd ; 

Upon the full red lip, and rounded arm, 

The swan-like neck, so snowy, yet so warm — 

Each charm the rosy light was wandering o'er, 

Brightening what seem'd all-beautifiil before. 

I paused a moment gazing yet unseen 

Beneath the sleeping shadows dark and green ; 

And thought, how strange that one so form'd to bless 

Should better love to live in loneliness. 

Pure, but not passionless, was that soft brow 

So warmly gilded by the sunset now ; 

And in her glistening eye there shone a tear, 

Like those we shed when dreaming — for some dear 



C A N T O 1 1 1 . 87 

But lost illusion, which returns awhile 

Our nights to brighten with remember'd smile, 

And yet we feel is lost, though sleep, strong sleep, 

Chains the swoln lid, that fain would wake and weep. 

I sat me down beside her ; round the zone 

That clasp'd her slender waist my arm was thrown : 

And the bright ringlets of her shining hair 

My fond hand parted on her forehead fair ; 

And thus I spoke, as with a smile and sigh 

She murmur'd forth a welcome timidly : 

' Again within the desert and at rest. 

Say, does my Miriam find herself more blest, 

Than when gay throngs in fond devotion hung 

Upon the sportive accents of her tongue '? 

Is all which made the city seem so gay. 

The song, the dance, all dream-like j^assed away ? 

The sighs, the vows, the worshipping forgot "? 

And art thou happier in this lonely spot ? 

Is there no form, all vision-like enshrined 

Deep 'mid the treasures of thy guileless mind ? 

And, deaf to every pure and faithful sigh. 

Say, would my desert rose-bud lonely die V 

High, 'neath the arm which carelessly caress'd, 

Rose the quick beatings of that gentle breast ; 

And the slight pulses of her fair young hand. 

Which lay so stirlessly within my own. 
Trembled and stopp'd, and trembled, as I scann'd 

The flushing cheek on which my glance was thrown. 
' She loves,' said I ; while selfish bitter grief 

Swell'd in my soul ; — ' she loves, and I must live 
Alone again, more wretched for the brief 

Bright sunshine which her presence used to give.' 
And then with sadden'd tones, (which, though I strove 

To make them playful, tremulously came) 



88 THE UNDYING ONE. 

I murmur'd : ' Yes ! he lives, whom thou canst love. 

His name, dear Miriam — whisper me his name.' 
There was a pause, and audibly she drew 
Her heaving breath ; and faint and fainter grew 
The hand that lay in mine : and o'er her brow 
Flush'd shadows chased each other to and fro : 
Till like a scorch' d-up flower, with languid grace 
That young head droop'd, but sought no resting-place. 



" Dreams pass'd across my soul — dreams of old days— 

Of forms which in the quiet grave lay sleeping ; 
Of eyes which death had stripp'd of all their rays, 

And weary life had quench'd with bitter weeping : 
Dreams of days when, human still, mj heart 

Eefused to feel immortal, and kept clinging 
To transient joys which came and did depart 

As fresh flowers wither, which young hands are fling- 
ing. 
Dreams of the days I loved, and was beloved — 

When some young heart for me its sighs was giving, 
And fond lips murmur'd forth the vow that proved 

Its truth in death, its tenderness when living : 
And dreaming thus, I sigh'd. Answering, there came 
A deep, low, tremulous sob, which thrill'd my frame. 
A moment, that young form shrunk back abash'd 
At its own feelings ; and all vainly dash'd 
The tear aside, which speedily return'd 
To quench the cheek where fleeting blushes burn'd. 
iV moment, while I sought her fears to stay, 
The timid girl in silence shrank away — 
A moment, from my grasp her hand withdrew — 
A moment, hid her features from my view — 



CANTO III. 89 

rhen rising, sank with tears upon my breast, 
Her struggles and her love at once confess' d. 



" Years — sorrow — death — the hopes that leave me lone, 
All I have suffer'd, and must suffer on ; 
The love of other bright things which may pass 
In half eclipse, beyond the darken'd glass (*) 
Through which my tearful soul hath learnt to gaze — 
The fond delusions of all future days : — 
L All that this \vorld can bring hath not the power 
To blot from memory that delicious hour. ~J 
She, who 1 thought would leave me desolate — 
For whom I brooded o'er a future fate ; 
She, who had wander'd through each sunny land. 
Yet found no heart that could her love command — 
She lay within my arms, my own — my own — 
[Jnsought, unwoo'd, but oh ! too surely won. 



" She was not one of many words and vows, 
And breathings of her love, and eager shows 
Of warm affection ; — in her quiet eye, 
Which gazed on all she worshipp'd silently, 
There dwelt deep confidence in what she loved, 
And nothing more — till some slight action proved 
My ceaseless thought of her : the/i her heart woke. 
And fervent feeling like a sunrise broke 
O'er her illumined face. Her love for me 

Was pure and deep, and hidden as the fount 
Which floweth 'neath our footsteps gushingly, 

And of whose wanderings none may take account ; 
And like those waters, when the fountain burst 
To light and sunshine, which lay dark at first, 
8* 



90 tKE tjNt)Yt5?G ONE. 

Quietly deep, it still kept flowing on — 
Not the less pure fof being look'd upon* 



" And then she loved all things, and all loved her. 
Each sound that mingleth in the busy stir 
Of nature, was to her young bosoni rife 
_With the intelligence of human life. 
Edith, my playful Edith, when her heart 
Tenderly woke to do its woman's part, 
Eill'd with a sentiment so strong and new, 
Each childish passion from her mind withdrew, 
And looking round upon the world beheld 
Her Isbal only. By deep sorrow quell'd, 
Xarifa's was a melancholy love. 
The plashing waters, the blue sky above, 
The echo speaking from the distant hill. 
The murmurs indistinct which sweetly fill 
The evening air — all had for her a tone 
Of mournful music — and I stood alone 
The one thing that could bid her heart rejoice 
With the deep comfort of a human voice. 
Not so, young Miriam. Love, within her breast, 
Had been a welcome and familiar guest 
Ev'n from her childhood : — I was link'd with all 
The sunny things that to her lot might fall ; 
The past — the present — and the future were 
Replete with joys in which I had my share. 
Nothing had been, or ever could be, felt 
Singly, within the heart where such love dwelt— 
Her birds, her trees, her favourite walks, her flowers, 
She knew them not as hers — they were all ours. 
And thus she loved in her imaginings 
Our earth, and all its dumb and living things; 



CANTO HI. 91 

Oft whispering in her momentary glee, 

It was the world I dwelt in ; part of me : 

And, bound by a sweet charm she might not break, 

She look'd upon that world, and loved it for my sake. 



" How shall I tell it 1 Linda, a dark pain 
Is in my heart, and in my burning brain. — 
Where is she 1 — 'where is Miriam ?— -who art thou ? 
Oh ! wipe the death-dew from her pallid brow ; 
I dare not touch her ! See, how still she lies, 
Closing in weakness her averted eyes : 
Gaspingly struggling for her gentle breath — 
And stretching out her quivering limbs in death ! 
Will no one save her ? Fool ! — -the shadow there 
Is the creation of thine own despair. 
No love, no agony, is in her heart : 
In sin, in suffering, she hath now no part. 
She is gone from thee — -sooner doom'd to go 
Than Nature meant ; but thou didst will it so. 



" Oh, Linda ! the remembrance of that day, 
When sad Xarifa's spirit pass'd away. 
Haunted me ever ^vith a power that thou. 
Who hast not smn'd or suffer'd, canst not know. 
My joys were turn'd to miseries, and wrought 
My heart into delirium ; I thought 
That, as she wept, so Miriam would weep, 
And start and munnur in her troubled sleep ; 
That, as she doubted, Miriam too would find 
A dark suspicion steal across her mind : 
That, as she faded, Miriam too would fade. 
And lose the smile that round her full lips play'd : 



92 THE t^iiTDYlNe OKE, 

That as she perish'd— Miriam too would die, 

And chide me with her last reproachful sigh. 

Often when gazing on her open brow, 

And the pure crimson of her soft cheek's glow — 

Sudden, a dark unhappy change would seem 

To fall upon her features like a dream. 

In vain her merry voice, with laughing tone, 

Bade the dim shadow from my heart begone ; 

Pale— pale and sorrowful— she seemed to rise, 

Death on her cheek, and darkness in her eyes ; 

The roundness of her form was gone, and care 

Had blanch'd the tresses of her glossy hair. 

Wan and reproachful, mournfully and mild 

Her thin lips moved, and with an effort smiled. 

And when with writhing agony I woke 

From the delusion, and the dark spell broke ; 

And Miriam stood there, smiling brilliantly, 

Shuddering, I said, ' And yet these things must be.' 

jj^ust be ;— that young confiding heart must shrink 

From my caress ; the joyous eyes, which drink 

Light from the sunshine that doth play within, 

Must grovel downcast with a sense of sin ; 

Or, startled into consciousness, will gaze 

Bewilderingly upon the sunset rays ; 

And meeting mine, with sorrow wild and deep 

Heart and eyes sinking, turn again to weep. 

Yes, these things must be : if, when years have pass'd, 

Each leaving her more fading than the last, 

She turns to the companion of her track. 

And while her wandering thoughts roam sadly back, 

Seeks in her soul the reason why his form 

Laughs at the slow decay or ruffling storm. 

That hath wreck'd better things ;— while on her sight. 

With the deep horrible glare, aud certain light 



CANTO III. 93 

Of hell to a lost soul, the slow truth breaks ; 
Till, as one wounded in his sleep, awakes 
To writhe, and shriek, and perish — silently : 
Her heart is roused — to comprehend and die. 



" To die ! — and wherefore should she not depart 
Ere doubt hath agonized the trusting heart % 
Wherefore not pass away from earth, ere yet 
Its mossy bosom with her tears is wet 1 — 
It was a summer's morning, when the fii'st 
Glance of that dreadful haunting vision burst 
Upon my mind : — I doom'd her then to die, 
For then I pictured to my heart and eye 
A world where Miriam was not : — often after, 
Amid the joyous ringing of her laughter, 
In sunshine and in shade, those thoughts return'd, 
Madden'd my brain, and in my bosom burn'd. 
Oh, God ! how bitter were those idle hours, 
When softly bending o'er her fragrant flowers, 
She form'd her innocent plans, and playfully 
Spoke of that future which was not to be ! 
How bitter were her smiles — her perfect love — 
Her deep reliance, which no frowns could move, 
On the affections of my murderous heart. 
Where the thought brooded, — when shall she depart ? 
As Jephthah gazed upon her smiling face. 
Who bounded forth to claim his first embrace ; 
And felt, with breathless and bewilder'd pause. 
Her early death foredoom'd — her love the cause : 
As Jephthah struggled with the vow that still 
Bound his pain'd soul against his own free will ; 
And heard her fjnd and meekly-worded prayer, 
To climb the well known hills, and wander there, 



94 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Weeping to think that in her virgin pride 
The beautiful must perish — no man's bride ; 
And that her name must die away from earth ; 
And that her voice must leave the halls of mirth, 
And they be not less mirthful : so to me 
It was to gaze on Miriam silently : 
Miriam, who loved me ; who, if I had said, 
' Lo ! thou must perish — bow thy gentle head,' — 
Would have repress'd each faint life-longing sigh, 
Bared her white bosom., and knelt down to die, 
Without a murmur. — So when she upraised 
Her quiet eyes, and on my features gazed. 
Asking me to come forth and roam with her 
Around her favourite haunts, the maddening stir 
Of agony and vain resolve would rend 
My bosom, and to earth my proud head bend. 
It seem'd to me as if that gentle prayer 
She breathed — to bid farewell to all her share 
Of life and sunshine ; to behold again 
The high bright happy hills and outstretch'd plain ; 
And then — come back and die. I left that isle, 
And Miriam foUow'd with a tearful smile, 
Glad to be with me, sorrowful to go 
From the dear scene of joy and transient woe. 
As Eve to Eden — towards that land of rest 
She gazed, then turn'd, and wept upon my breast. 
To Italy's sweet shores we bent our course ; 
And for a while miy grief and my remorse, 
And all my fearful thoughts, forsook m.e, when 
We mingled in the busy haunts of men. 
But oh ! the hour was fix'd — though long delay'd. 
Like the poor felon's doom, which some reprieve hatk 
stay'd. 



C A N T O 1 1 1 . 95 

" One night a dream disturb'd my frenzied soul. 

Methought to Miriam I confcss'd the -svhole 

Of what thou know'st, and watch'd her young glad face, 

That on her brow her feelings I might trace. 

Methought that, as 1 gazed, the flushing red 

Once more upon her cheek and bosom spread. 

As when she told her love ; and then — and then — 

(How strongly does that vision rise again !) 

Each hue of life by gradual shades withdrew, (*) 

Till ev'n her dark blue eyes seem'd fading too. 

Paler and paler — whiter and more white — 

Gazing upon me in the ghastly light, 

Her features grew ; till all at length did seem 

Like moving marble, in that sickly dream, 

Except the faded eyes ! they faintly kept 

The hue of life, and look'd on me and wept. 

And still she spoke not, but stood weeping there. 

Till I was madden'd with mine own despair — 

And woke. She lay beside me, who was soon 

To perish by my hand : the pale clear moon 

O'er her fair form a marble whiteness threw, 

And wild within my heart the madness grew. 

I rush'd from out that chamber, and I stood 

By the dim waters of the moon-lit flood ; 

And in that hour of frantic misery, 

I thought my vision told how she would die, 

Pining and Aveeping. — I returned again, 

And gazed upon her with a sickening pain. 

Her fair soft arms were flung above her head, 

And the deep rose of sleep her cheek was tinging : 
The tear which all who follow me must shed, 

Slept 'neath the lashes which those orbs were fringing ; 
And there she lay — so still, so statue-like — 

I stagger'd to her — 



96 ■ THE UNDYING ONE. 

I lifted up my desperate arm to strike — 

Linda — I slew her ! 
Once — only once — she faintly strove to rise ; 

Once — only once — she call'd upon my name ; 
And o'er the dark blue heaven of those eyes, 

Death, with its midnight shadows, slowly came. 
That tone's despairing echo died away ; ^ 

The last faint quivering pulsation ceased 
To thrill that form of beauty, as it lay 

From all the storms and cares of life released : 
And I sat by the dead. Fast o'er my soul 
A dream of memory's treasured relics stole. 
And the day rose before me, and the hour, 
When Miriam sat within her own sweet bower, 
The red rich sunset lighting on her cheek ; 
Afraid to trust herself to move or speak. 
Conscious and shrinking — while I strove to trace 
Her bosom's secret on her guileless face. 
I turn'd to press her to my burning heart — 
I that had slain her — ^wherefore did I start 1 
Cold, pure, and pale, that glowing cheek was laid, 

And motionless each marble limb was lying ; 
Closed were those eyes which tears of passion shed, 

And hush'd the voice that call'd on me in dying. 
Gone ! — gone ! — that frozen bosom never more, 

Press'd to mme own, in rapture shall be beating : 
Gone ! — gone ! — ^her love, her struggles — all was o'er, 

Life — weary life, would bring for us no meeting ! 



" They bore her from me, and they laid her low, 
With all her beauty, in the cheerless tomb ; 

And dragg'd me forth, all weak with pain and woe, 
Heedless of death, to meet a murderer's doom. 



CANTOIII. 97 

The wheel — the torturing wheel — was placed to tear 

Each quivering limb, and wring forth drops of pain; 
And they did mock me in my mute despair, 

And point to it, and frown — but all in vain. 
The hour at length arrived — a bright sweet day 

Rose o'er the world of torture, and of crime ; 
And human blood-hounds and wild birds of prey 

Waited with eagerness their feasting time. 
And as I gazed, a wild hope sprang within 

My feverish breast : — perchance this dreadful death 
And my past sufferings might efface my sin ; 

And I might now resign my weary breath. 
And as the blessed thought flash'd o'er my mind, 

I gazed around, and smiled. — To die — to die — 
Oh little thought those wolves of human kind. 

What rapture in that word may sometimes lie ! 
They stripped my unresisting limbs, and bound ; 
And the huge ponderous engine gave a sound 
Like a dull heavy echo of the moans, 
The exhausted cries, the deep and sullen groans, 
Of all its many victims. Through each vein 
Thrill'd the strange sense of swift and certain pain ; 
And each strong muscle from the blood-stain'd rack, 
Conscious of suffering, quiveringly shrank back. 
But I rejoiced — I say I did rejoice : 
And when from the loud multitude a voice 
Cried ' Death !' I wildly echoed it, and said 
' Death ; Death ; oh, lay me soon among the dead.' 
And they did gaze on me with fiendish stare, 
Half curiosity, and half the glare 
Of bloody appetite ; while to and fro. 
Nearer and nearer, wheel'd the carrion crow, 
As seeking where to strike. — A pause, and hark ! 
The signal sound ! 
9 



98 THE UNDYING ONE. 

When sudden as a dream, the heavens grew dark 

On all around : 
And the loud blast came sweeping in its wrath, 
Scattering wide desolation o'er its path : 
And the hoarse thunder struggled on its way ; 
And livid lightning mock'd the darken'd day 
With its faint hellish lights — they fled, that crowd, 
With fearful shrieks, and cries, and murmurs loud. 
And left me bound. The awful thunder crash'd 

Above my head ; and in my up-turn'd eyes 
The gleams of forked fire brightly flash'd, 

Then died along the dark and threatening skies ; 
And the wild howling of the fearful wind 

Madden'd my ringing brain ; while, swiftly driven, 
The torrent showers fell all thick and blind. 

Till mingling seem'd the earth and angry heaven. 
A flash — a sound — a shock — and I was free — 

Prostrate beside me lay the shiver'd wheel 
In broken fragments — I groan'd heavily, 

And for a while I ceased to breathe or feel. 



y 



" And I arose again, to know that death 

Was not yet granted — that the feverish hope 
Of yielding up in torture my cursed breath 

Was quench'd for ever ; and the boundless scope 
Of weary life burst on my soul again. 
Like the dim distance of the heaving main 
On some lost mariner's faint failing eyes ; 

Who, fondly dreaming of his native shore, 
(While in his throat the gurgling waters rise,) 

Fancies he breathes that welcome air once more, 
And far across the bleak lone billows sees 
Its blue cool rivers, and its shady trees ; 



C A N T O 1 1 1 . ^ 

Till when, upraised a moment by the wave, 

He views the watery waste, and sickening draws 

One long last gasping sigh for a green grave. 

Ere helplessly he sinks in Ocean's yawning jaws. 

" Night fell around. The quiet dews were weeping 

Silently on the dark and mournful earth ; 
And Sorrow pale its sleepless watch was keeping, 

And slumber weigh' d the closing lid of mirth ; 
While the full round-orb'd moon look'd calmly down 
From her thin cloud, as from a light-wreathed crown : 
And I went out beneath her silver beams ; 
And through my 'wilder'd brain there pass'd dark dreams 
Of Miriam, and of misery, and death ; 
And of that tomb, and what lay hid beneath : 
And I did lay my head upon that grave, 

Weepingly calling on her gentle name ; 
And to the winds my grieving spirit gave 

In words which half without my knowledge came : — ■ 

' Thou art gone, with all thy loveliness, 

To the silence of the tomb 
Where the voice of friends can never bless, 

Nor the cool sweet breezes come ; 
Deep, deep beneath the flowers bright, 

Beneath the dark blue sky. 
Which may not send its joyous light 

To gladden those who die. 
This world to thee was not a world of woe : 
My bird of beauty ! wherefore didst thou go 1 

' Thou art gone, and gone for ever — thou 
hi whom my life was bound : 



100 THE UNDYING ONE. 

The seal of death is on thy brow, 

And in thy breast a wound. 
Who could have slain thee, thou who wert 

So helpless and so fair ? 
When strong arms rose to do thee hurt, 
Why was not Isbal there 1 
Didst thou not call upon him in thy woe 1 
My bird of beauty ! wherefore didst thou go '? 

* Thou art gone ! — Oh ! fain my heart would rest, 

And dream — but thou art gone ; 
The head that lay upon my breast 

Is hid beneath that stone. 
And art thou there 1 and- wilt thou ne'er 

Rise up from that dark place, 
And, shaking back thy glossy hair, 
Laugh gladly in my face "? 
This world to thee was not a world of woe : 
I loved thee — ^wherefore, wherefore didst thou go 1 

* Return, return ! Oh ! if the rack — 

If nature's death-like strife. 
Borne silently, could bring thee back 

Once more to light, and life : 
Ev'n if those lips that used to wreathe 

Smiles that a glory shed, 
Ne'er parted but in scorn, to breathe 
Dark curses on my head : — 
Oh ! I could bear it all, nor think it woe : 
My bird of beauty ! wherefore didst thou go ? 

' Once more- — once more — oh ! yet once more ! 
If I could see thee stand, 



CANTO in. 101 

A breathing creature, as before 
I smote thee ^^'^th this hand. 
If that dear voice — oh ! must these groans, 

This agony be vain 1 
Will no one lift the ponderous stones, 
And let thee rise again ? 
Thou wert not wont in life to work me woe : 
My bird of beauty ! wherefore didst thou go V 



" And then I reason'd — Wherefore should the sod 
Hold all of her, which hath not gone to God ? 
I have the power again that form to see — 
I have the wish once more with her to be : 
And wherefore should we fear to look upon 
What from our sight some few short hours is gone ? 
Wherefore the thrill our senses which comes o'er 
At sight of what shall breathe and feel no more? 
Oh ! Miriam, can there be indeed a place 
Where I must dread to look upon thy face 1 — 
And then I knelt, and desperately did tear 
The earth from off that form so young and fair, 
And dash'd aside the sods which heavily 
Press'd on the bosom which had beat for me. 
At length 'twas over ; at the break of day 
The scatter'd fragments round about me lay ; 
And we once more were seated side by side — - 
The half-immortal, and his victim bride ! 
What the grave yet had had no power to change, 
Her long bright locks, these fingers did an-ange 
As she had worn them in her life's short spring; 
And the sweet flowers which lay half withering 
Upon the turf, I wreathed w^ith pains and care, 
And braided them among her glossy hair. 
9* 



10^ THE UNDYING ONE* 

And the rich glow of light burst_^on mine eyes ; 
And the bright morning, with her dark blue skies, 
Beam'd on the pale and faded form, that lay 
Cold and unconscious in the waking day. 
And forms drew round me, in a busy crowd : 

But though I saw them come, I heeded not, 
But call'd on Miriam with upbraidings loud, 

And clung to that beloved and fatal spot. 
And rude hands dragg'd me thence. I knew not how 

Or where they fetter'd me ; but when I woke 
From that night's dream, with cooler pulse and brow, 

Chams hung around me, which might not be broke. 
And in a damp deep dungeon I was flung, 

With scarce a gleam of heaven's sweet light to cheer, 
And silence round, save when my irons rung. 

Or the stern keeper's foot was drawing near. 
And many a weary day and sleepless night, 

I sat unmoved within that wretched cell, 
Dreaming confusedly of that last sight. 

The alter'd form of her I loved so well. 
* Miriam ! my Miriam !'— Such the first faint word 

Which burst my trembling lip with deep low sighs. 
Unconscious that the frowning keeper heard. 

And gazee with half contempt, and half surprise. 
And then I raved, and with a shaking hand 

Traced that dear name upon the dewy clay, 
And strove with feeble limbs to rise and stand, 

Greeting the vision'd form that might not stay. 
And they did call me mad — oh ! such his madness (') 

Who having lost what he half fear'd to love, 
Deep from his prison dungeon's gloomy sadness 

Sent forth his spirit by her side to rove. 
And dreamt of love, and Italy's sweet skies, 
And Leonora's proud impassion'd eyes ; 



CANTO in. 103 



And from his world of misery gazed afar 
On his own dream, as on a lovely star. 



" And from the earth I imaged forth a form, 

And call'd it Miriam, and would smile to see 
How calmly, amid all my passion's storm, 

Its steadfast rayless eyes still gazed on me. 
And I did love it, with a love beyond 

All that I felt before, except for her : 
And call'd to it, till, feverishly fond, 

I thought the clay began to speak and stir. 



" One day I slept — ^I had not slept for long. 
Long weary days and nights ; — and in my ear 

Rang the sweet notes of Miriam's gentle song. 
Which ev'n in that lone rest I smiled to hear ; 



* The world — ^the sunny world ! — I love 

To roam untired, till evening throws 
Sweet shadows in the pleasant grove ; 

And bees are murmuring on the rose. 
I love to see the changeful flowers 

Lie blushing in the glowing day, 
Bend down their heads to 'scape the showers, 

Then shake the chilly drops away.' 



" I woke and saw my keeper by me stand ; 

And curiously he gazed, with wondering eyes, 
On the form moulded by my frantic hand, 

And sternly bade me from my bed arise. 



104 THE fA'DYlNg ONffr 

Oh ! well my heart foreboded from his brow r 

Methinks I see the dark stern glances now, 

With which he heard my tale, for I did kneel 

And swear each secret feeling to reveal. 

So he would leave my precious Miriam there. 

To comfort Isbal in his lone despair. 

He heard : and o'er that dark and sullen brow 

A smile ev'n darker pass'd ; and he did throw 

That image rudely on the echoing ground, 

And spurn'd in scorn the broken fragments round ; 

And call'd me madman, and the threaten'd scourge 

Shook o'er my fetter'd limbs, his words to urge. 

He left me — madness did not come till then 

In spite of all I suifer'd. — ^Till that hour 
I had distinguish'd all, like other men. 

Nor sunk beneath misfortune's blasting power. 
But then I felt a circling in my brain ; 

A laugh convulsive in my choking breast ; 
A starting. in each heavy temple vein, 

A weight which all my shivering limbs oppress'd. 
Through my bewilder'd brain the warm blood rush'd, 
From my distended mouth in torrents gush'd ; 
And with a low sick sob I sank in pain, 
Trusting no more to wake or breathe again. 



" Days, months, and years roll'd on, and I had been 

A prisoner a century ; had seen 

Change after change among my keepers ; heard 

The shrieks of new-made captives, (which oft stirr'd 

My heart again to madness,) and the groans 

Of those whom death released ; the low faint moans 

Of the exhausted ; and I yet remain'd 

To my dark dungeon, and existence,' chain'd. 



CANTO III. 105 

But wherefore should I struggle thus to show 

The dull monotony of endless woel 

Suffice it, that it was amongst a race 

Then, yet unborn, that I beheld thy face — 

Thy angel face, for whom ev'n I would crave 

A few years' respite from the welcome grave." 

He ceased ; and with a tearless deep despair, 

Turn'd to the sad one who sat by him there ; 

And neither spoke ; — but o'er his wasted frame 

A shaking, as of strong convulsion, came : 

And, taking her faint hand between his own, 

Quivering he press'd it, with a heavy groan ; 

And look'd into her face, as if to read 

His fate therein — and bow'd his grief-worn head 

Upon his arms awhile ; then started up 

To live — or drink the dregs of sorrow's cup. 

And she rose too, who had been sitting by, 

Gazing upon those dark curls vacantly ; 

And once or twice half bending, as she would 

Have press'd her lips on them — though stain'd with blood. 

She rose, and when he murmur'd forth his fears — 

" Is it too horrible 1 must I depart f 
Look'd up, and with an agony of tears. 

Spread forth her arms, and clasp'd him to her heart. 



THE UNDYING ONE. 



CANTO lY. 



'Tis done — the night has pass'd away ; 

And basking in the sunny day, 

The laughing fountain's waters bear 

No record of each burning tear ; — 

The silent echoes give no sound 

Of shriek or moan ; and nothing round 

Can tell what breaking hearts have been 

So lately in that quiet scene. 

But ere the evening falls again, 

Many a step o'er mount and glen 

Shall hurry far and wide, to seek 

Her of the pallid brow and cheek. 
Proud is the eye of the bridegroom lord I 
He hath girt him round with a trusty sword, 
And the horse that hath borne him to battle for years, 
Gladly his angry summons hears, 
His red nostrils snuffing the morning air, 
Nothing he heeds their heavy care. 
But waits till his high curving neck shall be freed. 
To bound o'er the hills with an arrow's speed. 
He is gone — fiill swiftly he dashes by — 
And many a bright and beautiful eye 



CANTO IV. 107 

Follows the rider's form ; — and dreams 

Of pleasant walks by the dancing streams, 

Of moonlight whispering in the grove, 

Of looks of ardour, and vows of love. 

Fill those young hearts : and they wonder why 

Visions so happy should make them sigh; 

And more they wonder, that any one 

Of the numberless forms their eyes have known, 

Should have stolen a heart which Carlos woo'd 

By the fount, and the lone wood's solitude. 



Oh ! love — real love ! intoxicating dream 
Of beauty and of happiness \ how vain 
Are our aspirings after thee, which seem 

To bring thee near us ! — doubt and causeless pain, 
And jealousies, and most unconstant sighs 
For something fairer than this world supplies; 
And fondness which doth end in faint disgust ; 
And airy hopes that crumble down to dust ; — 
These are not love, — though these too oft impart 
A false excitement to the swelling heart. 



To look upon the fairy one, who stands 
Before you, with her young hair's shining bands, 
And rosy lips half parted ; — and to muse. 
Not on the features which you now peruse. 
Not on the blushing bride, — but look beyond 
Unto the aged wife, nor feel less fond : 
To feel, that while thy arm can strike them dead, 
No breathing soul shall harm that gentle head : 
To know, that none with fierce and sudden strife 
Shall tear thee from her, save with loss of life : 



108 THE UNDYING ONE. 

To keep thee but to one, and let that one 

Be to thy home what warmth is to the sun ; 

To gaze, and find no change, when time hath made 

Youth's dazzling beauty darken into shade, 

But fondly — firmly — cling to her, nor fear 

The fading touch of each declining year ; 

This is true love, when it hath found a rest 

In the deep home of manhood's faithful breast. 



To worship silently at some heart's shrine, 

And feel, but paint not, all its fire in thine : 

To pray for that heart's hopes, when thine are gone, 

Nor let its after coldness chill thine own : 

To hold that one, with every fault, more dear 

Than all who whisper fondness in thine ear : 

To joy thee in his joy, and silently 

Meet the upbraiding of his angry eye : 

To bear unshrinking all the blows of fate. 

Save that which leaves thy sorrow desolate : 

Nor deem that woe, which thou canst feel is still 

Borne with him, and for him ; through every ill 

To smile on him, — ^nor weep, save when apart, 

God, and God only, looks into thy heart : 

To keep unchanged thy calm, pure, quiet love, 

If he, inconstant, doth a new one prove ; 

To love all round him as a part of him, 

Ev'n her he worships : — though thine eye be dim 

With weeping for thyself — to pray that not 

One cloud may darken o'er their earthly lot : 

With the affection of true hearts, to see 

His happiness, which doth not hang on thee : — 



CANTO IV. 109 

Oh ! this is woman's love — its joy — its pain ; 
And this — it hath been felt — and felt in vain. 



They are dancing again, by the misty veil 

Of the star-lit sky and the moonlight pale. 

Laughing and murmuring voices rise, 

With their gladsome tones, to the peaceful skies : 

And no one voice hath a sadder tone, 

For the sake of her whose form is gone. 

Though her step was light in the dance, and her brow 

Fairer than any which gleam there now. 

Yet after the dance is done, and faint 

Each languid limb on the turf is thrown, 
Their gathering voices strive to paint 

The stranger-heart that Linda won. 
And still, as his wasted form, pale brow 

And mournful looks to their thoughts appear ; 
With his deep, sad voice, they wonder how 

He hath pleaded his tale in Linda's ear. 
And some dream wildly of wizard bower 

Which hath tempted those fair young feet to stray ; 
And some of the sweet and charmed power 

Which lies in the moonlight's holy ray : 
And some who love — oh ! they fondly feel. 

In the hopeful heart of the promised bride, 
That her soul may be bound in the woe or weal 

Of the stranger by the fountain's side : 
And none be able to know, or tell, 

How such a love in her young heart grew — 
Till the charm have bound their souls as well, 

And the flame burn bright in their bosoms too. 
10 



110 THE UNDYING ONE. 

They travel fast — the bridegroom lord, 

With his prancing steed and his trusty sword ; 

And the brother-tyrant by his side, 

With marble brow and heart of pride. 

But vainly they follow o'er vale and hill, 

Through the tufted heath, or the cool clear rill ; 

That mournful pair are far before. 

Where the bleak sands lie, and the billows roar. 

Far from the smiling land of her birth, 

Her early home on the boundless earth, 

Hath Linda, with tears, resolved to go, 

For her mother's son is her deadly foe. 

Stern as he was when she watch'd each look, 

And obey'd ere he spoke — oh ! how shall he brook 

That her heart had swerved, and her vows are naught 

For the sake of the love which a stranger brought 1 

Oh ! far may her white foot seek, and reach, 

A home on Erin's shingled beach ! 

Where Miriam dwelt — in their bless'd land 

Of the free warm heart, and the open hand ; 

Where no hypocrite's sneer their wrath disguises, 

But the sword springs out as the heart's blood rises ; 

There hath she chosen her home to be : 

And their bark bounds over the foaming sea. 

Silently watching by Isbal's side. 

Sadly she looks on the curling tide ; 

And gloomily as it roams o'er all. 

His eye is a guide where hers shall fall. 

Sudden a light shot o'er that eye, 
And a quivering through him came : 

And Linda, though she knows not why. 
Clings trembling to his frame. 
Hurriedly he spoke, 
As the deep flush broke 



CA.NTU IV. Ill 

O'er his fiice : 
"Tliere is a vessel — would it were a wreck! — 
I know it by the flag ; and on that deck 

Are forms my soul can trace. 
Though yet I see them not, I know 
That, could we meet, a bitter woe 

Were thine, their power beneath : 
Though yet I hear them not, I feel 
Each voice would tear the polish'd steel 

From out it« idle sheath. 
Curse on the sails, whose lagging speed 
Doth leave us in our hour of need ! 
Is there no wind in heaven 1 
They come — oh ! Linda, cling to me : 
Come closer yet : more strength Avill be 

To love and vengeance given!" 



Vain wrath ! Young Linda gazes on the sight 

Which thus hath conjured up a desperate fight: 

And, In the distance she doth spy a sail. 

With its flag fluttering gently on the gale. 

White, calm, and peaceful : — strange in truth it seems, 

That such a sight hath power to wake such dreams. 

Yet doth she shudder, as with vehement force 

He clasps her round, and views the vessel's course. 

It nears — it nears — and through the signal glass, 

The distant forms of crew and captain pass. — 

'Tis they ! 'tis they ! Her brother's haughty form, 

Proudly erect, defies the coming storm : 

And, seated near him, in his mantle clad, 

With brow almost as haughty, but more sad, 

Is he who woo'd her heart, when love was yet 

A dream — which those who wake, strive vainly to forget ! 



lis THE ITNDTITfG ONE, 

She sees them, but all unconscious they, 
Who tracks them thus on their distant way. 
They hail the vessel, then turn to gaze 
Upon the sunset's parting rays ; 
And veering in their course, they sever, 
Careless if they should part for ever ! 
But Isbal hath fixed his straining sight 
On the gleamy look of her canvass white, 
- And with impatient glance on high 
Chides the full sails that hide the sky ; 
And yearns, till that distant land be won. 
For spirit's wings to bear him on. 
Bounds the light ship on her foamy track. 
With her crimson pennant floating back : 
Onward impell'd by the steady gales, 
That are firmly pressing the swelling sails. 



On she goes, and the waves are dashing 
Under her stern, and under her prow ; 

Oh ! pleasant the sound of the waters plashing 
To those who the heat of the desert know. 



On she goes^and the light is breaking 
In a narrow streak o'er the distant sea ; 

And the shouts confused -of the crew are waking 
The silent air with an echo free. 



On she goes — and the moon hath risen — 
The holy moon that her veil doth shroud ; 

And like a mournful face from prison, 
She looketh out of her watery cloud. 



i 



CANTO IV. 113 

Graceful as earth's most gentle daughters, 
That good ship sails through the gleaming spray — 

Like a beautiful dream on the darken'd waters, 
Till she anchors in Killala bay. (*) 



Erin ! — be hush'd, my lyre ! Oh ! thou, 
With ardent mind and eager brow ; 
With heart and harp together strung, 
The hero's soul, the poet's tongue ; 
Who shall attempt the chorded shell 
Which thou hast breathed upon so well 1 
Or who shall seek that land to praise. 
Nor seem to echo back thy lays 1 
That land, " the land that bore thee ;" never 
Shall aught thy name from Erin's sever — 
Nor dream of Erin's beauty be, 
That doth not also breathe of thee. 
And if perchance in after years. 
Some other harp shall wake our tears ; 
Or, with a burst of glorious song, 
Bear our rapt souls in dreams along : 
The songs they sing, the lays they pour. 
Shall bring us back thi/ genius — Moore ! 
Oh ! yes — by all that others feel, ' 
When from thy lip the low words steal : 
By many an unregai"ded sigh 
The winds have caught in passing by : 
By wild far dreams of light divine. 
That come not, save to souls like thine : 
By the heart-swelling thou hast wrought : 
By thy deep melody of thought : 
By tear, and song, and ardour won — 
The harp of Erin is thine own ! 
10* 



114 THE UNDYING ONE* 

A stolin is in the sky ; a storm on earth ; 
And terror pale hath hushed the voice of mirth* 
And strong determination gleams forth now 
From the deep lines of many a careless brow. 
A storm is on the sea ; a storm in heaven ; 
And wildly on the vessel's course is driven. 
[Forth rushes lightning from the lurid skies, 
And ere the pilot's lip can pray, — he dies ! 
Aghast they stand ; — the blacken'd corse lies there^ 
Sickening their helpless hearts with deep despair : 
While Isbal waves his vainly lifted hand. 
And shouts in deafen'd ears his proud command r 
" Each to his post ! Myself will take the helm, 
Though lightnings dart and billows overwhelm. 
Why dream ye thus ? Is death so dreadful then . 
To shrinking things that boast the name of men ? 
Will ye be daunted that one soul hath gone 
Ere he had time to say, ' I go alone P 
Struggle for life ! for soon the yawning tide. 
Which howls and dashes o'er the good ship's side, 
Shall come to claim its prey : — each to his post, 
And strain and labour, or the ship is lost !" 
Alarm., and shame, and wonder fill their hearts ; 
And then his fiery speech some warmth imparts. 
All hands aboard with silent strength obey, 
And the strain'd vessel ploughs her labour'd way. 



A baric — a bark comes tossing o'er the wave, 
(On the dark face of heaven, more darkly seen,) 

Right on the vessel's course, — while ev'n the brave 
Shudder for breath ;— what doth the helmsman nxean? 

Onward she com.es-— by raging wave and wind 
Helplessly driven with a meteor's speed : 



CANTO IV. 115 

Almost she touches ; — is the helmsman blind, 

That of such danger he doth take no heed 1 
Well doth he know that ship, whose eye hath watch'd 

All the long day ; and now doth glaring stand 
Jlis only fear that heaven perchance hath snatch'd 

His deep revenge from out his desperate hand. 
She comes ! — -a shock — a hollow whirling sound — (*) 

A wail that o'er the troubled waters went 
Of many howling voices ; — a harsh sound 

Of the keel grating o'er that bark's descent ; 
And all was over ! — Oh ! in those few words 

How much of agony, and hope, and fear, 
And yearnings after life, and treasured hoards 

Of young hearts' feelings, cease and disappear ! 
All — all was over ! what, we may not know ; 

But looking back in our own breasts we feel 
Much perish'd, with the separate all of those 

Who sank beneath that vessel's grating keel. 
And with them perish'd Linda's brother stern, 

And the young bridegroom in his hour of youth ; 
And Linda feels her brain and bosom burn — 

Oh ! it had madden'd her to know the truth ! 
The murderous truth, that he she loved — for whom 

And for whose love she broke her plighted troth, 
With strong and ruthless hand prepared the doom, 

Which sickens her to dream upon — for both. 
But as it was, she gazed into his face, 
And round upon the black and empty space. 
And then with shudderings cold she bow'd her head, 
And gazed upon the waters. — 

Have the dead 
Power to rise ? She sees a single form 
All impotently struggling with the storm, 



116 THE UNbriNG ONE. 

And tossing high his arm, as if to crave 

A rescue from his comrades' watery grave. 

Oh ! save him ! — save him ! Swift a rope is thrown, 

And on the deck, with an exhausted groan. 

The half-drown'd wretch is laid. With greedy glare 

Doth Isbal watch him for a moment there ; 

And then with faded glance draws calmly back, 

And seems to watch the vessel's furrow'd track. 

Meanwhile full many a rough but hearty grasp 

Greets the lone stranger ; but his hand the clasp 

Returns not — -and their words of welcome seem 

Spoken to one who hears not, but doth dream. 

Wistfully gazing up into their eyes. 

As though he understood them not — awhile 
All motionless he stands ; then to the skies. 

Then on the sea, with a most bitter smile. 
And thus he spoke, but whom he loVed, or why, 
Is in His book who suffer'd them to die : — 

" It was a pleasant dream— -possessing thee. 

Albeit thy stay was very short on earth ; 
And still my hopes and heart are blessing thee, 

Thou of the glad bright eyes and voice of mirth. 
It was a pleasant dream — ^but thou art gone. 

By many a billow cover'd from my sight : 
Thou'lt come no more to cheer me when alone — 

Thy lips are mute — thine eyes no more are bright. 
Oh ! thou in whom my life was all bound up, 

What is that life without thee 1 Long ere now 
I deem'd that I had drain'd pale sorrow's cup — 

Alas ! I had not seen death on thy brow. 

" Oft, when with boding fears I've sat to watch 
For thy dear coming, with dim weary gaze, 



I 



1 



CANTO IV. 117 

Or wander'd out thine eye's first glance to catch, 

Fancy hath painted them with fiiding rays. 
I've dream'd of danger and of death ; and when 

Thine answering look hath met my anxious eye ; 
When I have clasp'd thee to my heart again — 

That heart's full joy hath strain'd to agony. 
But it hath come at last — the long dark day, 

The cheerless absence which hath no return ; 
And what is lefl to me *? where lies thy clay — 

There — there^ beloved, doth my beacon burn !" 



Wildly he gazed upon the green deep wave, 

As if he sought a spot to be his grave ; 

Then turning him where Isbal stood aside, 

" My curse upon thee, helmsman ! " loud he cried. 

He leapt — the waters closed, and murmur'd o'er : 

The heart that beat to suffer — felt no more. 

And Isbal started, and young Linda wept ; 

And the heavens brighten'd, and the loud winds slept. 

The cold pale moon began once more to shine, 

And the tall vessel sped athwart the brine. 



'Tis deep blue midnight — many a star 
Is twinkling in the heavens afar. 
The autumn winds are blowing keen 
The straight and steady masts between ; 
And motionless the vessel lies 
As she were traced upon the skies. 
Within that anchor'd ship are some 
Fond simple hearts who dream of home ; 
And murmuring in their sleep, they hear 
Far distant voices whispering near. 



118 THE UNDYING ONE. 

Within that anchor'd ship are many 

Whose careless dreams (if they have any) 

Bring back some lightly-utter'd jest, 

To brighten o'er their lonely rest. 

Within that anchor'd ship are none 

i^ho sleep not, save the watch — and one 

Who may not rest — who dares not dream ; 

And he — whence glows that sudden beam 

That shot along his pallid brow ? 

Again — again — 'tis brighter now — 

Awake ! awake ! 'tis danger — death ! — 

The flames are round, above, beneath ; 

Fire ! on the lonely waste of sea — 

Fire ! where no human help can be ! 

Wild, breathless, and aghast, the crew 

Crowd the scorch'd deck. A busy few, 

With the rude instinct that doth make 

Man struggle for existence' sake. 

Lower the boats : — one after one 

Those frail light barks are landward gone, 

Ere Isbal from his vision'd trance 

Is roused. — What meets his hurried glance 1 

Half burnt, half drown'd around him dying. 

Are wretches on the waters lying. 

He gazes on all with shivering start — 

" 'Tis the curse — 'tis the curse of that broken heart !" 

He hails the last boat — " Oh ! not for my life 

Do I ask you to brave the element's strife ; 

But for her who is dearer than life" — in vain ; 

A hoarse voice answers him again : 

" When thou wert helmsman, the ship went down, 

And the heavens look'd out with an angry frown. 

How know we who or what thou art, 

A man m form, but a fiend in heart ! 



CANTO IV. 119 

Thou didst not shudder, nor quail, nor shrink, 

When we heard the waves their death-sob drink ; 

Though brave men held their breath, to see 

Their fellows die so suddenly ! 

The wrath of heaven is on thy head, 

And a cry is come up from the early dead — 

It hath wrought on us this awful sign ; 

And we will not perish for thee or thine !" 



It was over now ! — and alone they stood 

In that fiery ship, on the glowing flood ; 

With a woman's love, and a woman's fear, 

She clung to that bosom, now doubly dear ; 

And she look'd up into his death-like face, 

From the eager clasp of his firm embrace, 

With a strange wild smile, which seem'd to say, 

" Let us die together," He turn'd away, 

And he gazed far out on the lonely sea. 

Where the billows are raging desperately ; 

He gazed for out to the utmost verge. 

But the sickening sound of the booming surge. 

And the dashing waves, with their ceaseless strife, 

Coursing each other like things of life — 

And a howl through the lighted firmament. 

As the boat, and the boat's crew downward went— 

Sounds of sorrow, and sights of fear. 

Were all which struck on his eye and ear. 

He look'd around him : — the fiery blaze 

Mocking the pale moon's quiet rays ; 

The red flames licking the topmast high, 

As if climbing to reach the cool clear sky; 

And the waters which came with a hissing splash. 

On the side of the burni)ig ship to dash ; 



120 THE UNDYING ONE. 

The fire-tinged sails, and the lonely deck, 
Which must soon be a black and helpless wreck ; 
The perishing fragments of all which lay 
So proudly bright at the close of day ; 
And the memory of that grating sound. 
When the keel pass'd over the wretches drown'd : 
These, and the thoughts such scenes impart, 
Were all that struck on his eye and heart. 
All — ^was it all ? Was there no pale form, 
Shining amid the element's storm, 
With her lip compress'd, and her dark eye proud, 
While the flames rose high, and the blast blew loud? 
Feeling that now no earthly power 
Could sever their hearts for one short hour. 
And careless of death, because she knew 
That where he sank, she must perish too ! 
He looked on her, and his heart grew sick. 
And his filmy glance was dull and thick, 
As wildly earnest he gazed once more 
From the rolling sea to the distant shore, 
A wild light shot o'er his gloomy brow ; 
" Oh ! Heaven, dear Linda, is with us now ! 
Amid these scenes of fear and dread, 
Thy Isba], still secure, might tread : 
The floating wave would bear him on 
> To live — but he would live alone. 
Oh ! by the love thou bear'st me still. 
Though to me thou owest all earthly iU ; 
By the hours, and days, and years of bliss 
Which made thy dreams, ere life sank to this ; 
By the hope that hath been, and that still may be, 
Plunge into the waves, beloved, with me." 
Wildly she gazes, and shrouds her eyes 
From the dark confusion of sea and skies. 



CANTO IV. 121 

Oh ! woman's heart ! to die by his side 
Less fearful seems than to stem that tide ; 
Those roaring, raging, horrible \yaves, 
Which are rolling o'er her shipmates' graves. 



Onward — onward — and Isbal draws 

His labour'd breath with a gasping pause ; 

The curse is light 

On his soul that night ; 
For a heart is beating against his breast, 
Where his lonely thoughts have found sweet rest, 

And a calm delight. 



Onward — onward — she faints not yet — 

Though her cheek be cold, and her long hair wet ; 

And Isbal yearns, 

As her fond eye turns 
To search for hope in his eager face. 
For land, and a mossy resting-place, 

Where nothing burns. 



Onward — onward — for weary miles 

Through the lone chill waters, where nothing smiles, 

And the light hath shrunk — 

And the wave hath drunk 
The last dull, cheerless, ruddy gleam. 
And naught remains but an awful dream 

Of the good ship sunk. 



Onward — onward — in darkness now. 
And the dew is standing on Isbal's brow j 
11 



122 THE UNDYING ONE. 

And his soul is wrung, 
As the arms which clung 
Confidingly, droop in their beauty there 
On the nervous strength of his shoulder bare, 
Where her long hair hung. 



Onward — onward — he hears once more 
Murmurs and sounds from the blessed shore. 

He heedeth not 

His long dark lot, 
But strains that form in a long embrace, 
And tenderly kisses her cold pale face, 

And his toil is forgot. 



" Thou'rt ^aved, my Linda ! See, the land is won— 
The pleasant land where we may live alone : 
The deep firm land, where we may stand and gaze 
Upon the ocean in its stormiest days. 
Linda, my beautiful ! oh, blessed be 
That day of well-remember'd agony 
Which stamp'd the brand of darkness on my brow- 
Since I have lived, beloved, to save thee now." 



He hath lifted her and laid her down. 

And taken her soft hand in his own. 

And wrung the brine from out her hair. 

And raised its weight from her bosom fair. 

Its cold damp weight, that her breath may come 

Free from its pure and lovely home. 

He hath press'd his cheek close, close to hers. 

To feel when the first pulsation stirs, 



CANTO IV. 123 

And now he watches with patient love 

Till that fainting form begin to move. 

Long may he watch. Oh ! never more 

By the rolling sea, or the pleasant shore, 

Shall her mournful voice with its gentle sigh 

Whisper soft words of melody. 

Never, oh ! never more, her form 

With faithful step, through sun and storm. 

Shall follow him from land to land 

Or like his guardian spirit stand. 

Long may he watch for that head to rise, 

For the gentle glance of those waking eyes ; 

Cold and pale as she lieth now — 

With her weary, limbs and her faded brow. 

So must she lie for evermore — 

She hath pass'd her trials and reach'd the shore ! 



Ah ! who shall tell their agonized despair. 

Who, after watchful nights of ceaseless prayer, 

And days of toil, and hours of bitter tears, 

And agony that does the work of years — 

Stand by the bed of death with whirling brain, 

And feel they toil'd, and loved, and pray'd, in vain. 

Sadly and fearfully they shrink from those 

Whose looks confirm the story of their woes, 

And seek with visionary words to buoy 

Their spirits up with prophecies of joy : 

Ev'n while their blanch'd lips quiver in their dread. 

The faint tongue murmurs, " No, they are not dead !" 

And yet we feel they are. So Isbal stood 

By the deep, rolling, and eternal flood ; 

And so he sought some comfort to impart 

With a fond falsehood to his conscious heart ; 



124 THE tr NOTING ONE. 

And still repeated, " Lo, she breathes ! she stirs !" 
When his own breath had waved a tress of hers. 
The oft repeated echo died away 
Of those vain words ; and as the ocean spray 
With its light snow-shower drenches her again, 
Her lip gives forth uncertain sounds of pain. 



In his wrung heart he seeks to guess 
WTien perish'd so much of loveliness ; 
And in Fancy's dream her arms again 
Cling as they clung around him then. 
Which of the mountain waves that rose, 
Bade her meek eyes for ever close ? 
Was it her corpse that he bore for miles. 
When he gladly dreamt of her grateful smiles 1 
Or did her white feet touch the shore, 
Ere her spirit departed for evermore ? 
With a straining force his deep thoughts dwell 
On each murmur that rose 'mid the ocean's swell. 
Was it when feebly her young arms sank. 
That the dashing waters her spirit drank, 
And her breath pass'd out on the billows high 
With a faint and unremember'd sigh 1 
But no — for long after he spoke to cheer. 
And her sweet voice answer'd in his ear. 
Was it when darkness fell around. 
And the red ship sank with a gurgling sound — 
That her angel soul to its haven past 
On the unseen wings of the midnight blast? 
Did she yearn for the far land hopelessly. 
As her stiff limbs shrank from the foaming sea : 
Or did she yield her up to death, 
With a weary moan, and a gasping breath 1 



CANTO IV. 125 

Vainly he searches his tortured brain 
For a farewell word, or a sigh of pain ; 
Silently as he bore her on, 
Her soul from its gentle frame hath gone, 
And never on earth shall his heart discover 
The moment her love and her life were over ; 
Only thus much shall the lost one know — 
Where she hath departed, he may not go ! 



With sternly folded arms, and undrawn breath, 
He stands and gazes on that form of death. 
The deep, the sickening certainty is there, 
The doom eternal of his long despair. 
O'er the dim wave he flung his desperate arm. 
Forgetful in his anguish of the charm 
That bound his life. With effort wild and vain 
He plunges headlong in the treacherous main ; 
While the lone sea, with melancholy sound, 
Returns him groaning to the mossy ground. 
Again he leaps the tide-wash'd bank, which late 
He deem'd a shelter from the storms of fate : 
The dashing waters yield, and then divide ; 
But still he sinks not in the whelming tide. 
Proudly he stemm'd the billows, when his arms 
Bore the faint burden of his Linda's charms ; 
Proudly he gazed upon the waters high, 
Whose strength contain'd no power to bid him die : 
But now he curses, with a bitter voice, 
The ocean, which doth triumph and rejoice, 
As the green billows, heaving in the day 
Greedily roar around that lifeless clay. 
11* 



126 tHfi UNDYING ONE. 

Hark ! the wild-owl that echoes through the land, 
As his foot spurns the smooth and glittering sand. 
That wave its floating weight on shore hath thrown ; 
And " the Undying One" is left alone. 



THE SOEEOWS OF EOSALIE 



I. 

Oh, ye for whom this tale of woe is told, 
Who tempest-tost on passion's stormy deep, 
Too weak for virtue, yet in vice not bold, 
Irresolutely turn away and weep : 
Deep in your torn and wavering bosoms keep 
One love, beyond all others ; — 'tis a love 
Shall never cost you tears, or bid you sleep 
Less calmly on your couch, lest it should prove 
A vain and faithless dream by wandering fancy wove. 



n. 

It is the love of God ! Your idols tread 
Where death hath raised his ever-pointed dart : 
" Thou shalt not worship them." So He hath said 
Whose word is law. The numbered hours depart, 
And the frail idol of each trembling heart 
Is snatched in mercy from you, that when riven 
Are all the gentle ties, whose magic art 
Made earth appear your home, the soul forgiven 
May gladly wing its free, unfettered flight to heaven. 



130 



HI. 



And ye who make the joyful heart to grieve, 
Ye tempters of the weak and smful ! learn 
To think upon the future : oh, believe 
Days come, when in your hearts, now cold and ster. 
The worm that dieth not. Remorse, shall burn. 
And ye shall mourn the ruin ye have made — 
Shed the vain tear o'er the unconscious urn, 
Where, early blighted, 'neath Guilt's venomed shade, 
Lie young, confiding hearts, by cruelty betrayed. 

IV. 

The small, still voice shall whisper you, and haunt 
Your brightest noon-day hour, your stillest night ; 
And with its deep, mysterious power shall daunt 
Each coward heart amid the halls of light ; 
Making the day seem hateful to your sight. — 
Yes, ye shall writhe beneath th' avenging rod ! 
Oh, vainly would ye chase your soul's affright ; 
Or seek to hide beneath the mountain sod. 
From the unerring eye of an offended God ! 



V. 

Deem not the tale o'erwrought ; ye little think 
How many, whom ye knew when young, and gay, 
The bitter waters of affliction drink. 
And vainly weep their wretched lives away. 
Pause o'er the cloud-hid future — shun the ray 
Which, meteor-like, n\isleads, and dies again — 
The mournful darkness of each summer's day — 
The listless sadness of a heart in pain : — 
Tempters and tempted, pause, e'er yet that pause be vain! 



THE 



SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 



PART I. 



I. 



Ye marble-hearted ones, whose sighs and tears 
Are granted only to a gilded woe — 
Whose sick and misdirected pity fears 
To look on all that penury can show, 
When guilt and want have made a hell below ; 
In whom the unreal mockeries of the stage 
Alone can wake a momentary glow ; 
Whom griefs impossible, and mimic rage, 
Far more than sorrow's truth, and wan disease, engage 



II. 



To such I would not speak — but oh ! to you 
Whose generous hearts can feel another's grief ; 
Who all you ca/i, are willing still to do. 
Though loathsome be the wretch who asks relief. 
To those who turn — where sorrow claims us chief- 
To the lone hut where cheerless misery 
Clings wistfully to life, though sad and brief, 
And hopes, however vain those hopes may be — 
To those alone I call, for they can feel for me. 



13S THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

III. 

Yet little reck I now for pity's throb : 
Can it recall the years that are no more 1 
Can it repress the deep convulsive sob 
That, choking, comes from my heart's inmost core 1 
Can it bid those return whose day is o'er 1 
Can it remove the sad sepulchral stone, 
Or raise again my ruined cottage door 1 
Those whom your pity might have saved, are gone, 
And now it is not prized, for I am left alone. 



IV. 

No friend shall watch my lingering soul depart— 
Unwept, unhonour'd, /must pass away ; 
The7i pity forced from each reluctant heart 
Shall pour upon my tomb its useless ray, 
Condemn my faults, yet mourn my clouded day ; 
Then, when a late compassion smiles in vain, 
A hand divine shall bid my sorrows stay ; 
And I shall see the forms I love again. 
And rest my weary head where all are free from pain. 



V. 

Oh, woman ! in this hour of agony 
/ Trample not rudely on the fallen one ; 
I have been weak, been guilty, but I die 
Spurned at, forgotten, friendless, and alone ; 
All that I had, save hope of heaven, is gone ; 
From that safe port no wand'rer shall be driven ; 
God, before whom I bow, will hear my moan ; 
For there's no sin too great to be forgiven 
By him who pities all — the Omnipotent of heaven. 




PART I. 133 

VI. 

Home of my childhood ! quiet, peaceful home ! 
Where imiocence sat smiling on my brow, 
Why did I leave thee, willingly to roam, 
Lured by a traitor's vainly-trusted vow? ^ 

Could they, the fond and happy, see me now, 
Who knew me when life's early summer smiled, 
They would not know 'twas I, or marvel how 
The laughing thing, half woman and half child, 
Could e'er be changed to form so squalid, wan and wild. 

VII. 

I was most happy — witness it, ye skies. 
That watched the slumbers of my peaceful night ! 
Till each succeeding morning saw me rise 
With cheerful song, and heart for ever light ; 
No heavy gems — no jewel, sparkling bright. 
Cumbered the tresses Nature's self had twined ; 
Nor festive torches glared before my sight ; 
Unknowing and unknown, with peaceful mind. 
Blest in the lot I knew, none else I wished to find. 



VIII. 

I had a father — a gray-haired old man. 
Whom Fortune's sad reverses keenly tried ; 
And now his dwindling life's remaining span, 
Locked up in me the little left of pride. 
And knew no hope, no joy, no care beside. 
My father ! — dare I say I loved him well 1 
I, who could leave him to a hireling guide ? 
Yet all my thoughts were his, and bitterer fell 
The pang of leaving him, than all I have to tell. 
12 



134 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

IX. 

Each morn, before the dew was brush'd away, 
When the wide world was hush'd in deep repose,— 
When only flowerets hailed the early day, 
I gathered many a diamond-spangled rose. 
And many a simple bud that widely blows ; 
Then, quick returning to my father's bed, 
Before his heavy eyelids could unclose, 
I shook away the tears that Nature shed. 
And placed them with a kiss beside his slumbering head. 

X. 

My father ! — still I see thy silvery hairs 
Uplifted gently by the evening breeze. 
That placid brow, furrow'd with many cares, 
The Bible resting on thy aged knees. 
Thine eyes that watch'd the sunset through the trees, 
The while I read aloud that holy book. 
Or brought wild flowers with childish zeal to please, 
CuU'd by the mossy bank or ruiming brook. 
And guess'd thine every wish and feeling from a look, 

XI. 

And oh ! my childhood's home was lovelier far 
Than all the stranger homes where I have been ; 
It seem'd as if each pale and twinkling star 
Loved to shine out upon so fair a scene ; 
Never were flowers so sweet, or fields so green, 
As those that wont that lonely cot to grace. 
If, as tradition tells, this earth has seen 
Creatures of heavenly form and angel race, 
They might have chosen that spot to be their dwelling 
place. 



PART I. 135 

XII. 

In evil hour (for me unfortunate) 
Did the deceiver come ; I will not say 
That he was all on earth most good and great, 
Or fairer than the other sons of clay ; 
But he was all to me — a single day 
Spent without him was as a year of pain ; 
And, when he went, I wept whole hours away, 
Musing upon that love so light and vain. 
Or trembling lest I ne'er should see his face again. 

XIII. 

Oh, Arthur ! if thine eye should view these lines, 
Bid not the tear of vain compassion flow ; 
On thee the sun of pleasure brightly shines, 
For thee the ruby wines still sparkling glow. 
Though I am pining here in want and woe. 
When at thy festive board peals loud and long 
The jocund laugh, or music stealing slow, 
Think not on Aer, who once with simple song. 
And smiles, repaid thee well for luring her to wrong. 



XIV. 

Oh ! still enjoy the cup, the song, the dance, 
While yet that life of thoughtlessness may be ; 
And should some happier beauty's fav'ring glance 
Force thee, despite thyself, to think on me. 
Cold and ungrateful, know that even she 
Whom thou hadst injured and then left to die. 
In death forgave thee — loved thee — pitied thee : 
For, heartless as thou art, the time is nigh 
When thou shalt mourn my woes, and echo every sigh ! 



136 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XV. 

Oh ! still the charm clings round my broken heart 
With which his early love its cords had bound ; 
In vain I bid his imaged form depart, 
For when I pray, with sad and falt'ring sound, 
His name is on miy lips, — -and hov'ring round, 
jETe, the young Arthur of my happy days, 
Stands on some green and flow'ry spot of ground, 
With sunny smile and bright enraptured gaze 
Greeting me kindly still with visionary praise. 



XVI. 

Oh, Arthur ! by each fond endearing name — 
By every melody in youth I sung — 
By my lost hopes— by my departed fame. 
By the sad ling'ring dream to which I clung, 
By every bitter tear from anguish wrung, 
By all my love— by all my untold grief, 
Let not another weep that she has hung 
Upon thy words, and die without relief; 
For sorrow makes too long a life, however brief. 



XVII. 

He came — admired the pure and peaceful scene, 
And ofFer'd money for our humble cot. 
Oh ! justly bum'd my father's cheek, I ween, 
" His sires by honest toil the dwelling got ; 
Their home was not for sale." It matters not 
How, after that. Lord Arthur won my love. 
He smiled contemptuous on my humble lot. 
Yet left no means untried my heart to move, 
And call'd to witness his the glorious heavens above. 



I 



PART 1. 137 

XVIII. 

Oh ! dimm'd are now the eyes he used to praise, 
Sad is the laughing brow where hope was beaming, 
The cheek that blush'd at his impassion'd gaze 
Wan as the waters where the moon is gleaming ; 
For many a tear of sorrow hath been streaming 

• Down the changed face, which knew no care before ; 
And my sad heart, awaken'd from its dreaming, 
Recalls those days of joy, untimely o'er, 

And mourns remember'd bliss, which can return no more. 



XIX. 

Lord Arthur came, when evening beams had set, 
That then my aged father might not know 
How often and how tenderly we met. 
My heart was doubly weigh'd by guilt and woe, 
And sometimes, or perchance T fancied so, 
Methought he gazed on me reproachfully. 
Oh ! more than once I thought I would not go ; 
For piteous and remorseful 'twas to see 
How bright the old man's smile whene'er he look'd on me. 



XX. 

But yet I went — my weak and wicked heart 
Could not resolve to bid a last adieu ; 
I could not say I would with Arthur part ; 
I felt I could not live but in his view, 
And deem'd his love as fervent and as true. 
I went — to shield the future from my sight, 
A veil around my reason close I drew ; 
O'er my dark path there hung no friendly light. 
But yet I knew each step led farther ti-om the right. 
12* 



138 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XXI, 

It was upon a gentle summer's eve, 
"When Nature lay all silently at rest — 
When none but I could find a cause to grieve, 
I sought in vain to soothe my troubled breast, 
And wander'd forth alone, for well I guess'd 
That Arthur would be lingering in the bower 
Which oft with summer garlands I had dress'd ; 
Where blamelessly I spent full many an hour 
Ere yet I felt or love's or sin's remorseless power. 

XXII. 

No joyful step to welcome me was there ; 
For slumber had her transient blessing sent 
To him I loved — the still and balmy air. 
The blue and quiet sky, repose had lent, 
Deep as their own — above that form I bent. 
The rich and clustering curls I gently raised. 
And, trembling, kissed his brow — I turned and went— 
Softly I stole away, nor, lingering, gazed ; 
Fearful and wondering still, at my own deed amazed. 



XXIII. 

My step had roused him, for he lightly sprung 
From the green couch that Nature's hand had made. 
Aside the drooping woodbine wreaths he flung ; — 
" And art thou, then, of Arthur, love, afraid ? 
Am I less dear to thee in slumber laidl 
Or dost thou think I should have watch'd for thee, 
Unwearied, till thy footsteps in the shade 
Echo'd the sound my heart keeps faithfully, 
Sleeping or Waking, still ray dream of hope to be 1" 



PART I. 139 

XXIV. 

That night, to me a night of misery, 
In silence thought upon, in silence wept, — 
I gazed, through tears, on the unconscious sky, 
While peacefully my poor old father slept. — 
That night I vowed (and well my vow I kept) 
That Arthur should be more than all to me. 
High swell'd my heart, and in my bosom leap'd, 
As I look'd round, and thought no more to see 
My village, home, or sire — ^but Arthur's bride to be. 



r— XXV. 

'Twas not ambition — no — for though he said 
That I should mistress be of hill and dell, 
And many a glorious jewel deck my head : 
No, 'twas not these, — it was enough to dwell 
Poor, unadorn'd, so he had loved me well. 
E'en where I was, or in some humbler spot, 
Remote and far, where I might truly tell 
How well I loved (because 'twas his) my cot, 
And how I would not change with queens my happy lot. 



XXVI. 

The morning broke, and I was left alone, 
Bewilder 'd, sorrowful, as in a dream ; 
The small birds sang — the heavens serenely shone, 
But oh ! to me did nothing joyful seem. 
And tears unknown — most bitter tears, would stream 
For love's rash vow irrevocably made ; 
And when my father spoke — sincere, I deem, 
"Was the sad wish my heart's faint whisper said, 
On a far colder couch to lay my unconscious head. 



140 fHE SORROWS OV ROSALIE* 

XXVII. 

The evening came — 'would it had never come I 
And I prepared to go, with many a tear ; 
A sad, yet willing exile from my home, 
Forsaking all I held on earth most dear. 
My father call'd rae, for he loved to hear 
The Bible read by his loved child alone : — 
I tried to read ; but, oh I I could not bear 
The fond dim look — -the gentle, trembling tone ; 
I scarcely heard bis words, and sorrow choked my own, 

xxvni. 

Murmuring I still read on — ^my words unheeded, 
With fear, and doubt, and sorrow almost wild ; 
From him I could not ask the help I needed, 
Till breaking on my trance, in accents mild 
And fatherly, he said, " What ails my child 1 
What sorrow, Rosalie, is in thy breast 1 
Perchance thy favourite lamb has been beguiled 
To quit its home- — ^perchance some ringdove's nest 
A truant boy hath torn from out its place of rest. 

XXIX. 

" Nay, sob not thus, my Rosalie ; whate'ei 
Thy griefs^ thou surely, love, cans't tell them we." 
I could not answer — choking with despair, 
I hid my throbbing brow upon his knee ; 
Then looked up to his face in agony. 
I had confess'd, had one word more been said. 
But whispering, " This is childish," smilingly, 
He laid his trembling hand upon my head, 
" Heaven bless thee now, my child ! sweet sleep await 
• thy bed!" ' ' 



PART I. 141 

XXX. 

He went ; and when I thought upon the morning, 
When he would wake to solitary woe, 
And when I gazed upon the flowers adorning 
The spot I once deem'd happiest below — 
When I beheld the Bible cherish'd so, 
For sake of those who now were fallen asleep, 
I thought within my heart I could not go ; 
And with repentance, silent, sad, and deep, 
I sat me down alone in bitterness to weep. 

XXXI. 

My face was buried in my hands : — a voice 
Awoke me from my cheerless dream of grief; 
Those tones were wont to make my heart rejoice. 
But now — I turned — salt tears had brought relief, 
I spoke in hurried accents, faint and brief: — 
" Oh, not to-morrow ! then I cannot go." 
He heard, as though he gave my words belief, 
And, turning from me, said, in tones of woe, 
** Farewell to thee and life, if thou canst wound me so !" 

XXXII. 

** Oh, Arthur ! stay" — ^he turn'd, and all was o'er — 
My sorrow, my repentance — all was vain — 
I dreamt the dream of life and love once more, 
To wake to sad reality of pain. 
He spoke, but to my ear no sound was plain, 
Until the little wicket-gate we pass'd — 
That sound of home I never heard again. 
And then " drive on — drive faster — yet more fast." 
I raised my weeping head — Oh ! I had look'd my last. 

END OF THE FIRST PART. 



THE 



SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 



PART II„ 

I. 

^ It was in spring — that time of ecstasy, 

When but to breathe the fresh and gladsome air, 
To gaze upon the blue and sumiy sky, 
The bright green fields, the trees, the meadows fair, 
And cull the wanton wild flowers springing there, 
To happy youth is worth full many a joy, 
Which the cold world vainly deems worthy care. 
Then — then to live, is hope without alloy. 

The sense of being, bliss — which naught on earth can 
cloy. 

11. 

And I had deem'd there was no bliss beyond 
That feeling, till we wander'd side by side — 
Till shone on me thos^ eyes so brightly fond, 
Now my sole sunbeam in the world so wide ; 
Till we together watch' d the waters glide. 
In silvery ripples, by the silent shore j 
Till I had tried — alas ! how vainly tried. 
To think on aught as I had thought before. 
To cease to think of Aim, must be to think no more. 



PART II, 143 

III. 

And he had bought for me a little cot, 
Where creeping jasmine and light woodbine twined; 
Oh ! beautiful and bright that fairy spot ! 
Yet all its loveliness but brought to mind 
The one, more beautiful, I left behind ; 
But still I loved it, for beneatJi each tree 
Arthur's dear form upon those banks reclined. 
Whatever faults a stranger's eye might see, 
That tiny spot of earth was Paradise to me. 

IV. 

Day after day, and hour succeeding hour. 
For me Time's flight outstripp'd the flagging wind ; 
And never love had fetter'd with his power 
A heart more fondly true, more wholly blind, 
To all that might to others seem unkind. 
Than mine ; — although his absence seem'd an age, 
Fondly I made excuses in my mind. 
Think me not tedious — scorn me not, ye sage. 
But weep that all my bliss is centred in a page ! 



v. 

Oh thou, though faithless, still too dearly loved, 
When I remember that short year of bliss — 
That sunny dream of love, as yet unmoved — 
The transient tear chased by thy tender kiss, 
I marvel how I can be sunk to this. 
I see thee still in dreams, and deem, in sooth, 
I hear thy voice, and w^atch no word to miss ; 
I see those eyes all tenderness and truth — 
Alas! I wake in vain to mourn mv blighted vouth. 



144 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

VI. 

It was not like the happiness I knew 
When in my first sweet home of peaceful rest — 
Twas joy, or agony — each feeling grew 
Wild, stormy, and tumultuous in my breast, 
Though every wish was granted soon as guess'd ; 
Though I had all for which the happiest sigh. 
There was one thought — deep, silent, unexpress'd, 
Which called the unbidden tear-drop to mine eye, — 
A thought of him I left— 2^ thought of days gone by ! 

vn. 

Oft would the bitter tear unconscious roll ; 
And Arthur watch'd, and sought to chase away 
All that could shade the sunlight of my soul- — 
Soothed, praised, caressed, and bade my grief not stay, 
Cheeringly speaking of some distant day 
When I should turn me to my childhood's home 
As Arthur's bride — the gayest 'mid the gay, 
And bid my fond and aged father come 
To princely halls and bowers, no more from me to 
roam. 

VIII. 

Yet when, with timid, trembling voice, I pray'd 
That holy ties our hearts might soon unite, 
He tum'd, half playful, half displeased, and said — 
" The links of love will best true love requite ; 
Cold are those worldly ties, and no delight 
Can those unhappy find who love perforce. 
Who drag the unwilling chain because 'tis right^ 
Struggling for duty, shrinking from remorse, 
Sighing for earlier times when free their joyous course. 



PART II. 145 

IX, 

•* Oh no, my love ! — ^my life — unchanged, unchanging, 
Still let the flow'ry chain so lightly bind, 
That hearts may fancy they are free for ranging, 
And wander out the charmed links to find ; 
Yet still return to one most true, most kind, 
Half loth to stay, yet powerless to rove. 
To all but pleasure and each other blind. 
Oh 'tis a glorious life, a life of love ! 
So may we live on earth as angels live above. 

X. 

" Content thee, then, my love ! for none shall be 
So dear to me as thou ! and look not grieved. 
For I have given my life, my soul to thee. 
My future bride !" — He spoke, and I believed ; 
Oh ! who had listen'd and not been deceived ! 
Alas ! I knew not all the bitter woe, 
The scorn that waits on her of fame bereaved ; 
I had but menials round me, proud to show 
Respect for Arthur's sake, though / was sunk so low. 

XI. 

Once, only once, the witching power to charm 
Fled from those lips whose accents were so* dear. 
It was a summer evening, soft and warm ; 
I gazed upon the heaven, blue and clear, 
From out my little latticed window ; near 
Was Arthur standing — and the woodbine, climbing, 
Shed a wild fragrance round — when on my ear 
Fell a sweet sound of distant church-bells chiming, 
And onward came young forms, their st6ps to music 
timing. 
13 



U-' 



146 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XII. 

Alas ! that day — I oped the casement wide, 
And watch'd that gay group with a smiling face — 
It was a village wedding ; and the bride, 
Rosy and rich in all youth's blooming grace. 
Came lightly on, past this my fairy place ; 
Nearer and nearer still I saw them glide — 
Bhe tum'd, half startled, as she heard me rise, 
When some grave matron, walking by her side, 
Whisper'd her — slowly she withdrew her eyes, 
With a sad farewell glance of pity and surprise ! 

XIII. 

Silent she passed, last of the wKite-robed train — 
Oh ! there was something in her pitying look, 
Mingled with dread, that thrilled my heart with pain. 
My proud and sinful spirit could not brook 
To see those gay ones, as their way they took, 
With half suppress'd contempt in every eye : 
Tear after tear in vain away I shook. 
As all, with downcast glance, went slowly by, 
As if they/eZ^, not saw^ some evil thing was nigh. 

XIV. 

Burst the convulsive sob from out my breast ! 
On Arthur's arm I leant my throbbing brow. 
" And did I then forsake my home of rest 
To be so scorn'd, so shunn'd, so hated now 1 
Oh ! take me back where my own flowers still blow, 
Where the beloved ones I left are dwelling ; 
Let me but see them once before I go 
To that far land where none my sins are telling. 
For strong ' against my breast this breaking heart is 
swelling !" 



PART II. 147 

XV. 

" Nay, calm thee, love !" — in vain the words were 

spoken ; 
Sob after sob rose thick and chokingly — 
My dream was past — Hope's fairy glass was broken, 
Dreary and dark my prospects seem'd to be ; 
The path of life, where once I thought to see 
Bright skies above, and flowers of joy beneath, 
Faded before me in my agony. — 
'Twas all a wilderness, a desolate heath — 
" Oh ! Arthur, wed me now^ or this will be my death." 

XVI. 

He dash'd away the tear that would encroach, 
And firmly said, in accents low and deep, 
" I could from others bear this wild reproach, 
But not from thee — Rosa ! to see thee weep 
Costs me far more than it would thee to keep 
Thy sorrow within bounds ; cease this vain strife, 
And let my promise bid thy sorrow sleep. 
Soon as a son is born, to glad my life, 
Oh, then shall Heaven and man behold thee Arthur's wife ! 

XVII. 

" Pass some short months, and then — " he turn'd— « 

a sigh 
Burst from his breast, and / could say no more ; 
But fancied, from that hour of agony. 
That Arthur came less often than before : 
And when he came ! — ye that are weeping o'er 
The lost affections of a heart whose care 
Was once to please you only ! — ye that pour 
Tears silently, then strive your woes to bear. 
And try the sunniest smile your faded cheek can wear ! 



148 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XVIII. 

Pity me ! for it came — the hour of sorrow 
To me^ that had forgotten how to weep ; 
To me, who gladly hailed each joyous morrow 
That woke me from light dreams and peaceful sleep ! 
Oh, ne'er did happiness its vigil keep 
Over the sinful — theirs is transient joy ; 
The trembling Miss — the feelings wild and deep, 
Shooting like lightning o'er the heart — their toy, 
Coming in brightness still, more darkly to destroy. 

XIX. 

And Arthur was not what he was erewhile ; 
Sad was his eye, and gloomy grew his brow ; 
Changed were his accents — sorrowful his smile — 
Yes, — lie was altered, — oh \ 1 cared not how — 
But gazed, and wept in bitterness ; and now. 
With eyes averted, or impatient tread. 
He saw his hapless Rosa's tear-drops flow ; 
No word of comfort soothingly he said, 
But buried in his hands, with mutter'd oaths, his head. 

XX. 

Oh \ it was awful, starting from his trance, 
To see him pace with hurried step the room ; 
Darting bright troubled fires from every glance. 
Then calm, but pale, without youth's brightening 

bloom. 
As storms, subsiding, leave a cheerless gloom. 
In vain I supplicated him to tell 
His grief to me^ and let me share his doom. 
Assured that death with him were welcomed well — 
No word he spoke, but still on me those dark eyes fell. 



I 



PART II. 149 

XXI. 

Months pass'd : one evening, as of early days, 
" When first my bosom thrill'd Ids voice to hear, 
And thought upon the gentle words of praise 
Which forced my lips to smile, and chased my fear ; 
I sang — a sob, deep, single, struck my ear; 
Wondering, I gazed on Arthur, bending low — 
His features were concealed, but many a tear, 
Quick gushing forth, continued fast to flow. 
Stood where they fell, then sank like dew-drops on 
the snow. 

XXII. 

Oh yes ! however cold in after years, 
At least it cost thee sorrow then to leave me ; 
And for those few sincere, remorseful tears, 
I do f:)rgive (though thou couldst thus -deceive me) 
The years of peace of which thou didst bereave me. 
Yes — as I saw those gushing life-drops come 
Back to the heart which yet delayM to grieve me, 
Thy love return'd a moment to its home, 
Far, far away from me for ever then to roam, 

XXIII. 

I gazed a moment, mute with sad surprise ; 
My bosom thrill'd by that deep sound of woe ; — 
" Oh Arthur, oh beloved ! raise those dear eyes, 
Let but my tears with thine together flow ! 
Whate'er thy grief, let love, let Rosa know." 
Startled he turn'd — sad as a funeral chime 
The slow words came — " Oh ! Rosa, I must go : 
This night I sail to reach a foreign clime ; 
Nay, look not thus appall'd — it is but for a time." 
13* 



150 THE gORROtVS Of tiOSAtlS, 

XXIV. 

Vain were his wofcfs— chill sank my feinting heart : 
" Oh ! if datk fate hath doom'd us now to sever, 
I do conjure thee, though all hope depart, 
By ottt past love, by every vain endeavour 
To hold thee here,— -say, dost thou go for ever"?'^ 
" No ; hy my hopes of bliss — ^by all that's dear— 
By the blue midnight sky-— the silent river — 
By Heaven, which only now ray vow can hear, 
Within three transient months expect me to appear/' 

XXY. 

He went — ^he went I his shadow, as he pass'd^ 
Traced his dark outline in the silvery light ; 
And, as he closed the gate, he gave one last 
Long lingering look of love, as if the sight 
Recall'd to rnemory many a fairer night ; 
He raised his eyes to heaven's blue vault serene, 
And turn'd away ;— -he went— -the moonbeams bright; 
Chequer'd with Wavy lines the peaceful scene — - 
And long with dreamy thought I watch'd where he 
had been„ 

XXVI. 

Still hope was left me, and each tedious hour 
Was counted as it brought his coming near j 
And joyfully I watch'd each fading flower; 
Each tree, whose shadowy boughs grew red and sear j 
And haii'd sad Autumn, favourite of the year. 
At length my time of sorrow came—'twas over, 
A beariteuus boy was brought me, doubly dear, 
For all the fears that promise caused to hover 
Round hini— 'tWci>s past — I claim'd a husband in my lover* 



PART n. 151 

XXVII. 

Oh, beauteous wefe iny baby's dark blue eyes, 
Evermore turning to his mother's face, 
So dove-like soft, yet bright as summer skies j 
And pure his cheek as roses, ere the trace 
Of earthly blight or stain their tints disgrace. 
O'er my loved child enraptured still I hung ; 
No joy in life could those sweet hours replace^ 
When by his cradle low I watch'd, and sung ; 
While still in memory's ear his father's promise rung, 

XXVIII. 

Three months — three lingering months, had past away^ 
And my sweet infant had begun to know 
Upon whose neck his clasping fingers lay, 
And sought by little signs his love to show ; 
And when my tears unconsciously would flow. 
Raised those young innocent eyes, with questioning 

glance ; 
Hark ! a quick step is trampling through the snow — 
'Tis Ae, 'tis he ! I cried, from distant France ! 
But my heart echoed low, 'Tis he, 'tis he, — perchance. 

xxrx. 

Close to my beating heart, I strain'd my boy. 
That moment's bliss repaid whole months of care 
Forward I sprang, in fulness of my joy ; 
In joy ! — ^alas, it was not Arthur there. 
Stern was the aspect, haughty was the air 
Of him, who gazed around in wondering mood, 
'• Lady," he said at length, " art thou aware 
From whom I come?" Trembling, awhile I stood; 
Then wildly cried, '"From him! oh, are thy tidings good?'* 



152 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XXX. 

" Lord Arthur greets thee, and he bade me say, 
That he no more thine image may retain ; 
That thou must cast the lingering hope away, 
If hope thou hast of seeing him again ; 
A second parting would but give thee pain ; 
And nevermore" — the rest I could not hear : 
There were words spoken, but I strove in vain 
To catch the sense : stricken with doubt and fear, 
Sick grew m.y fainting heart, and dull my senseless ear. 

XXXI. 

Something, I know, was said in soothing tone, 
As if some comfort in the words were told ; 
Something in praise of that dear little one, 
And offers large of gold— accursed gold — 
Oh ! at that sound how every vein grew cold ! 
Would that bring back the hope that fled for ever ? 
All rush'd upon my mind — the days of old — 
The promise made wheii we were doom'd to sever ; 
I ask'd, and weeping memory answer'd, Never ! never ! 



XXXII. 

I strove for speech — I lifted up my child ; 
With quivering lip that breathed imperfect sound, 
"Tell him," I said, with voice and gesture wild, 
" If in his heart some vain excuse be found. 
Tell him, this tie, and Heaven, will hold him bound ; 
Tell him, the heart he labour 'd to beguile 
Will, breaking, firmly clasp his image round ; 
Tell him, my life will linger but awhile. 
Say that you saw his child, my rosy infant, smile. 



PART II. 153 

XXXIII. 

" Take back your gold ! — in the heart's agony 
It is not valued — it is nothing worth ; 
Tell him, if he is changed, I soon shall die, 
And then can only need a little earth. 
Bid him think once, amid his hours of mirth, 
On the young gladness of our mutual love — 
Bid him remember, at my infant's birth. 
The proriiise only heard by Heaven above ; — 
Oh ! once he had a heart — seek thou that heart to move." 

XXXIV. 

He promised, and he went — oh, dire suspense ! 
To breaking hearts how terrible art thou ! 
When every sound strikes sickening on the sense, 
And the cold drops stand on the pallid brow. 
I watch'd — I waited — yea, I hoped e'en now — 
I thought, perchance, that Arthur's self would come 
To bid adieu ! — I reck'd not, ask'd not how, 
But thought, if he revisited his home, 
And only saw his child, again he could not roam. 

x:?:xv. 

The third day broke — a menial servant came, 
And brought a letter — well I knew the hand ; 
Unkind to write — to send — ^my trembling frame 
Could scarce the strength of tottering steps command. 
With dim, but eager eyes, each line I scann'd — 
Oh ! what the words ] — the words — away ! each one 
Had lived for ever, even though writ in sand ; 
He said he gave me back the heart he won, — 
He said — hear it, bright Heaven ! — Albert was not his 
son ! 



154 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XXXVI. 

I read it — yes ! I read it — and my heart 
Eefused to break ! I read it yet again, 
Gazed on, and bade my spell-bound soul depart — 
Look'd up in anguish to the heavens — 'twas vain ! 
I shriek'd, I wept, sole witness of my pain ! 
Speak for me now, though sinful, lost, and wild, 
By the vain passion I might not restrain — 
By all my sufferings — by thy mercy .mild — 
Oh ! witness, by all these, he did reject his child ! 

XXXVII. 

It was his child ! ungrateful and unkind, 
Thou could'st not think what yet thou dar'dst to say. 
Oh ! if remorse hath ever cross'd thy mind, 
May Heaven forgive when I am far away ! 
Mayest thou ne'er think, amidst the proud and gay, 
Of her who now so freely hath forgiven — 
Of her who loved thee in life's earliest day, 
Who lives to pray for thee, to love thee even — 
Her latest hope, to meet thy pardon'd soul in heaven. 

XXXVIII. 

I rose — I took my child — the fatherless ! 
Wiped the big tear-drops from my heavy eyes, 
That gush'd at every mute and dear caress 
My infant gave ; and, as the lone dove flies 
Far from her widow'd nest, through stranger skies, 
To seek her mate, so, reckless of the scorn 
Which on the world's sad victim heavy lies, 
I went, with racking doubt and anguish torn, 
To die, or bid young Hope again with Love be born. 



PART II. 155 

XXXIX. 

With weary limbs, parch'd lips, and fainting heart, 
I reach'd the proud metropolis — around 
Were busy throngs, of which I form'd no part ; 
And cheerful faces, and the jocund sound 
Of countless human voices ; friends, who found 
Those that they sought for ; children, that could come 
To meet their mother with a joyous bound. 
Who welcomed me ? who bade me cease to roam 1 
Alas ! to me this scene was but my Arthur's home ! 

XL. 

I press'd my baby to my throbbing breast, 
In the wide world he was my only tie ; 
Others had parents, husbands, homes of rest. 
Loved and were loved again — Oh ! what had 1 1 
No voice was there to soothe mine agony. 
I wander'd on 'mid crowds, alone, alone ; 
None bade me stay, none bade me cease to sigh ; 
By all unpitied, and to all unknown, 
I had my love — my grief — my child: — all else was 
gone. 

XLI. 

I reach'd his door — that door which once I thousrht 
Had oped to welcome me as Arthur's bride ; 
Where oft, in joyous fiincy, I had brought 
My poor old father, evermore beside 
His couch to watch, and be his only guide ! 
Where were those buoyant hopes and feelings now ? 
Where was that vision, raised by youthful pride ] 
Fled with the pureness of that virgin brow 
Which sorrow might have dimni'd, but sin alone could 
bow. 



156 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XLII. 

I knock'd — oh ! louder knock'd my beating heart ! 
When to the door a heavy footstep came ; 
The menial smiled, and bade me quick depart,^ 
Muttering " Hard travelling for so fair a dame," 
While indignation shook my trenabling frame ; 
I shrank away, the ready tears gush'd forth. 
But pride forbade — I could not speak my name ; 
A moment's silence, and upon the earth 
That pitying servant threw some coins of little worth, 

XLIII. 

Yea, pity touch'd his heart — ^but oh ! for me — 
Was this my fate 1 — I was condemn'd to take 
From. Arthur's servant common charity ! 
I rose — I said, " Alas ! for pity's sake 
Let me see hina — thy master — let me make 
Myself appeal unto his harden'd soul ! 
Some throb of dying mercy I might wake — 
Some feeling interest cannot control — 
Some wish, the bitter grief he caused me, to console !" 

XLIV. 

Hard, hard to be refused ! he bade, me wait, 
The only favour he could now bestow — 
To stand a mendicant at Arthur's gate. 
Watching the time when he and all should go 
To seek amusement in the sunny glow. 
Oh ! once the gladsome light had charms for me ! 
Once I could watch the dark blue river flow, 
With smiles of joy, with thoughts of ecstasy ; 
But lips must cease to smile when hearts no more are 
free. 



J 



PART II. 157 

XLV. 

I waited — Heavens ! how crept the weary hours, 
Step after step, away ! — They bring not him ! 
At length I caught his voice — All-gracious Powers ! 
How throbb'd my heart, how fail'd each quivering 

limb ! 
How seem'd each object in my sight to swim ! 
That light, gay, laughing voice! — it ceased — the 

sound — 
He came, he came, I raised mine eyes, though dim, 
And indistinct all figures seem'd around : 
I saw him well — my hopes, my fears, an answer found. 

XLVI. 

Beautiful as in life's first early day ; 
Proud as the eagle on his airy height ; 
With that bright sparkling eye, whose glancing ray 
Spoke from beneath his brow, like dawTiing light — 
With stately form, to fix the wandering sight. 
And those dark curls uncover'd to the wind 
Which oft, in happier days of sunshine bright. 
With garlands wild my sportive fingers twined ; 
He stood, lingering awhile for those who came behind. 

XLVII. 

Onward they came — the young, the gay, the free — 
With eyes reflecting back the beams that shone. 
With careless step, and youthful revelry. 
And graceful laughter's light and silvery tone. 
They pause — a gay adieu, and they are gone 
To meet again at festival or dance ; 
And one fair creature now was left alone, 
On whom my Arthur cast an anxious glance. 
And she replied with smiles — a sister's smiles, perchance 
14 



158 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XLVIir. 

I could not rise — 1 vainly strove to speak, 
The words, imperfect, died upon my tongue ; 
Like some sad dream we struggling try to break, 
The scene around upon my spirit hung ; 
And ever in my ear the accents rung, 
'"'' If hope thou hasV — oh ! could I hope again? 
With tender care a mantle Arthur flung 
Across that lady's steed, and smoothed his mane, 
Then turn'd to mount his own, and seized the tighten'd 
rein, 

XLIX. 

Despair gives strength. — With one convulsive bound 
I reach'd him, clung to him with fever'd grasp ; 
And when he gazed in wild amazement round, 
And strove to disengage my frantic clasp, 
I burst the bonds of silence with a gasp, 
And Arthur answer'd. Oh ! upon my ear, 
Like the cold poison of the deadly asp, 
Freezing my life-blood, fell those accents drear — 
Yet he had loved me well — what had I now to fear % 

L. 

Hurried and passionate the words he spoke — 
Pale grew his cheek, and darker fell his bro^v ; 
And from his breast a groan of anguish broke : 
" Rosa, I would that thou hadst spared me now, 
'Tis vain — 'tis past — alas ! thou know'st not how 
I struggled and entreated — 'twas in vain ; 
I may not now renew my broken vow,^ — 
I may not even visit thee again ; 
Rosa, forgive me — / have suffer'd equal pain." 



PART II. 159 

LI. 

Wild was my laugh — " Oh ! heartless and unkind ! 
Thou suffer ! may'st thou never feel like me ! 
Yea, give thy vows of passion to the wind ; 
Heaven heard them, though to man unknown they be ; 
Heaven sees me shunn'd by all, betray'd by thee ; 
Lured from the happy home where once I smiled ; 
Heaven hears my moan of helpless agony — 
Heaven hears thee scorn thy young and innocent 
child- 
Heaven sees us stand e'en now, beguiler and beguiled." 

LII. 

" Rosa ! 'tis vain — whate'er I can, I will — 
Ask what thou wilt, which riches may bestow ; 
The cot is thine — mayest thou be happy still ! 
In vain regret may rise, or tearg may flow — 
Angels may smile above — man weeps below — 
The happiest hours of all my life are past — 
The faded flower of love no more can blow — 
Thou see'st my bride — my die for life is cast — 
Write — ask whate'er thou wilt — this meeting is our 
last." 

LIII. 

With desperate step and strong he broke away, 
Upon his courser in an instant sprung ; 
When soft I heard her voice in pity say — 
" Hast thou relieved her, Arthur V Still I clung 
To him — to life — till at my feet was flung 
A purse — a heavy purse — I loosed my hold. 
Loud on the sounding stones the iron rung 
Of those departing steeds — my blood ran cold — 
I gazed on what remain'd — my child, my grief, and gold. 



160 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

LIV. 

I did not faint — ^I did not tear my hair — 
I ,did not shriek to Heaven and man for aid; 
Once only, when some gazer's piteous care 
Raised up the purse, and gentle offer made, 
A groan of anguish, which might not be staid, 
Burst forth ; all then was mute as nciy despair. 
I lifted up my child, who, half afraid. 
Clung trembling to my heart in silence there, 
And turn'd me to depart — returning home — ah ! where 1 



LV. 

My cot ! oh ! was it mine '? was I to be 
A guilty thing, dependent, though unloved! 
Yet whither turn, to shun the charity 
Of him whose heart so cold and stern had proved ? 
Would strangers pity when he was not moved ! 
Or would the humble friends of happier days 
Welcome the wanderer, who lonely roved 
Through the dark world, shunning her fellows' gaze, 
Unheard, unsought, the voice of pity or of praise 1 



LVI. 

Yet there was one — one on the boundless earth, 
Who would not spurn me, even when fallen and lost 
Whose gentle fondness smiled upon my birth — 
Who watch'd if e'er a shade of sadness cross'd 
My laughing brow — and when, by passion toss'd. 
My heart rebellious rose, had gently cheer'd. 
And watch'd, consoled, supported, loved me most. 
In sorrow sought, by Nature's ties endear'd — 
Father ! to thee I turn, thy wrath no longer fear'd. 






PART 11. 161 

LVII. 

Once I bethought me, vain and hopeless thought ! 
To make appeal to her, that pitying one — 
Woman to woman. Then I would have sought 
To move her gentle heart with anguish'd moan ; 
But ever on my ear there fell the tone 
Of Arthur's hurried words—" Thou see'st my bride !" 
Was she indeed his bride 1 Yes, hope was gone — 
I felt it true. Roll on, life's 'whelming tide, 
Wreck the frail bark which now hath lost its only guide. 

LVIIl. 

And this was he who loved me ; he who came 
To whisper vows to my too willing ear 
With lip of melody and heart of flame ; 
Vows whose glad truth I deem'd so trebly dear 
To him who breathed them, that had doubt or fear 
Been raised within my heart, they could not grow — > 
He whose bright eyes bespoke a soul sincere — 
This, this was he who— vain remembrance now ! 
He lives to scorn the past — he lives to break his vow. 

LIX. 

Ah no ! I could not turn me to that cot 
Which in life's gladsome spring I loved so well ; 
I could not think upon my hopeless lot. 
And then return, forgotten, there to dwell 
Where once — oh memory ! no longer tell 
The tale too oft repeated, and in vain. 
What reck we of the scenes that once befell, 
If all the future is composed of pain ? 
Farewell, thou stranger home ! welcome my own again ! 



14* 



V 



THE 



SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 



PART III. 

I6 



1 joiiRNfi-^^D on— the weary suii had set, 
And darkness shadow'd o'er the face of heaven ; 
Sleep, that can bid the wretched to forget. 
To my sWeet babe its late repose had given ; 
When changed the aspect of that gentle even, 
The bitter blast came sweeping o'er my path ; 
Far off, in eddying rounds, the snow was driven — 
Burst o'er my head the thunder's dreadful wrath— 
I turn'd to God, my stay, the hope the wanderer hath. 

II. 
« Shield, shield my child, All-merciful, All-just t 
Grant but the shelter of the meanest shed ! 
If that mine hour is come, if die I must, 
Spare me at least to house Ms gentle head 1 
Have mercy, oh ! have mercy !— Cold the bed 
His form must press, if I should perish now. 
Yet, yet a little while, and with the dead. 
Smiling and thankful, I v,'ould lay me low. 
Hear me, by all my woes— before thy throne I bow. '* 



PART III. 163 

III. 

Oh, night of horror and of agony ! 
When chilling fear came like some fell disease ; 
When the blue lightning shot along the sky, 
Flashing bright ruin round, its prey to seize ; 
When the cold wind howl'd through the rocking trees, 
And shivering, wet, and weary, I pursued. 
Struggling agamst the strong opposing breeze. 
Trembling with anguish, faint for lack of food. 
Across the wintry waste, a path unknown and rude. 



IV. 

At length the whirlwind ceased, the morning broke : 
Oh ! never had I seen the sun arise. 
Ere from my dream of pleasure I awoke, 
Li all the radiance of blue summer skies. 
With half the bliss with which my weeping eyes 
Received the gray and melancholy morn, 
Which, pale and tearful, seem'd to bid the ties 
Which bound me to the world again be born — 
Those ties which but last night I deem'd in sunder torn. 



V. 

I reach'd a hamlet, and a moment's peace 
Dwelt in my heart. 'Twas sweet to hear once more 
The busy sounds I fancied were to cease 
To animate a heart whose beat was o'er. 
I gently tapp'd a lowly cottage door, 
And ask'd for food with faint and humble voice; 
I fed my child, with bliss unknown before. 
When I had plenty round and viands choice : 
Oh ! those who suffer much are those who most rejoice ! 



164 T«£ SOllItOWS of HOSALIE. 

VI. 

Again I turn'd to Wend my Weary Way, 
Hoping to feach my home ere evening came ; 
And the sun gladden'd soon the misty day, 
Infusing life and Vigour in my frame ; 
Half faded from my heart the sense of shame, 
Arose again the hope that had expired ; 
And thoughts of him who would not harshly blame, 
Of penitence, of love, my bosom fired. 
And prayer to Him whom prayer and sorrow never tired. 

Vllk 

I reach'd my home when the warm sun was set- 
When o'er the beauties of that peaceful scene 
A few faint rosy beams were Imgering yet : 
I thought, while gazing on that lovly e'en, 
On what I was, on what I once had been ; 
1 thought, as round me lay the drifted snow. 
How bright the summer when I last had seen 
That cottage sleeping in the sunset glow. 
Where now are leafless trees, through which the bleak 
winds blow. 

vlii. 

Such was the change my heart had undergone— 
There all was gloomy, dark, and desolate, 
And winter reign'd where brightest spring had shone. 
I stood a moment at the wicket gate. 
Lingering, and trembling on the verge of fate, 
With Weeping eyes upraised to that calm Heaven, 
With fear and shame, that urged me yet to wait. 
While from my heart all confidence Was driven ; 
And now I deem'd my crime too great to be forgiven. 



PART III. 165 

IX, 

On, Rosa, on — ^a father must forgive t 
The heart which judges truly cannot love ; 
He waits to welcome thee, to bid thee live 
For him, no more in misery to rove : 
Oh, haste thee yet, a father's pity prove : 
I oped the gate, advanced — retreated — ^no, 
I dare not seek that injured heart to move. 
What shall I say 1 yet whither can I go ? 
Oh, help me, Heaven ! give strength for more than 
mortal woe. 

X. 

I paused — across the latticed window came. 
While cold and hesitating there I stay'd, 
The cheerful blazinor of the hearth's briojht flame — 
That hearth where oft in infancy I play'd. 
And many a gambol by my father made. 
Reckless of stormy winds, which raged without, 
Save when, with lisping, innocent tongue, I pray'd 
That God would save, m terror, grief, and doubt, 
Wandering and weary ones, condemn'd to venture out. 

XI. 

/ was that wanderer now ! — I oped the door ; 
I stood upon the threshold of my home ; 
A gasp of agony, — a moment more, 
And pardon'd Rosalie should cease to roam : 
To that bright room my faltering steps had come ; 
Methought e'en now I felt the cheering glow. 
Saw the brown bread, the bright ale's sparkling foam, 
Which once my hand had bade for him to flow. 
To whom but hirelings, now, their tardy duty show. 



166 THE SORROWS OP ROSALIE. 

XII. 

The latch was lifted, and I gazed around — 

But oh, my heart ! there were bright faces there, 

And cheerful voices, but it ceased, that sound ; 

A youth, and aged man with silver hair, 

Knelt with clasped hands, to breathe their evening 

prayer ; 
And a young wife, who rock'd her cradled child, 
Ceased her low murmuring song, that on the air 
No voice but Ms might sound, and gently smiled, 
Till startled by my shriek, which rose long, loud and wild. 

XIII. 

Yes — bright and cheerful as 'twas wont to be, - 
The hearth was blazing, but, alas ! for whom ? 
Oh, what was I to them — or they to me 1 
I gazed around,^ hoping my steps had come 
Astray, but no ! too well I knew the room ; 
Too true the certainty struck on my heart— 
I read in stranger eyes my dreadful doom ! 
Their welcome, only an astonish'd start — 
Their links on earth, fond ties, in which / had no part ! 

XIV. 

" My father ! oh, my father !" — vain the cry— 
I had no father now ; no need to say, , 
" Thou art alone !" I felt my misery — 
My father, yet return, — return ! the day 
When sorrow had avail'd is past away ; 
Tears cannot raise the dead, grief cannot call 
Back to the earthy corse the spirit's ray — 
Vainly eternal tears of blood might fall ; 
One short year since, he lived — ^my hopes now 
perish'd all ! 



PART III. 1G7 

XV. 

A shriek, and low I sank upon the ground ; 
The last dim sound that fell upon my ear, 
Those pitying voices murmuring around, 
The last dim glance show'd pity's trembling tear ; 
It ceased — and fled the power to see or hear. 
My child was taken from my failing arms ; 
Happy, unconscious now of hope or fear. 
Dead to the poignant sense of earthly harms. 
Dried were my bitter tears, and hush'd my heart's 
alarms. 

XVI. 

On, on — through many a dark and mournful day 
. I lived, half conscious, in a dreamy land. 
While many a vision came, and pass'd away. 
And many a fairy scheme of bliss was plami'd. 
And ever by me Arthur seem'd to stand ; 
With him in sunny fields and bowers I ranged. 
In scenes where we had wander'd hand in hand ; 
And I was happy till the vision changed ; 
'Twas Arthur still, but oh ! with heart and looks 
estranged ! 

XVII. 

And then, methought, beneath a stormy sky. 
With his gray hair thin streaming on the wind. 
My father stood in hopeless agony ; 
Reproach'd me as ungrateful and unkind ; 
And pray'd that / as hard a fate might find ; 
Or' on a lonely couch his form was lying, 
Whispering sad words, which, still with head inclined, 
I vainly strove to hear ; and he, while dying, 
Cast a reproachful glance at me for not replying. 



168 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XVIII. 

And then again it changed, and bound I stood 
While demons tore my baby limb from limb, 
And still the stream of gushing, living blood 
Came trickling on the earth, all fresh from him, 
Who might have mingled with the cherubim. 
And been as bright as they : — warm o'er my feet, 
All seen too plain, though vision-like and dim, 
Those crimson rivulets appear'd to meet, 
While powerless still I stood, unable to retreat — 

XIX. 

At length I slept ; and when I woke again 
Those fever'd dreams had fled, and left me weak, 
With but the sense confused of grief and pain : 
I gazed around, and feebly tried to speak ; 
And kindly eyes, that watch'd my slumber break, 
Turn'd to the couch,-^— I ask'd them for my child. 
And that young wife replied, in accents meek : 
My babe was brought me — I was wan and wild ; 
And, shrinking back, it turn'd to that kind one, and 
smiled. 

XX. 

Long, long I wept with weak and piteous cry 
O'er my sweet infant, in its rosy bloom. 
As memory brought my hours of agony 
Again before my mind ; — I mourn'd his doom ; 
I mourn'd my own : the sunny little room 
In which, oppress' d by sickness, now I lay 
Weeping for sorrows past, and woes to come. 
Had been my own in childhood's early day. 
Oh! could those years indeed so soon have pass'd 
away ! 



PART III. 169 

XXI. 

Past, as the waters of the running brook ; 
Fled, as the summer winds that fan the flowers ; 
All that remain'd, a Avord — a tone — a look, 
Impress'd, by chance, in those bright joyous hours; 
Blossoms which, cull'd from youth's light fairy bowers, 
Still float with lingering scent, as loth to fade, 
In spite of sin's remorseless, 'whelming powers. 
Above the wreck which time and grief have made, 
Nursed with the dew of tears, though low in ruin 
laid. 

XXII. 

And they had watch'd me all that weary while — 
Those kindly hearts, and made my child their own, 
And saw with pleasure still its infant smile ; 
And even now, when fell disease was gone, 
Besought me not to wander forth alone 
In the bleak stormy world where friends were not; 
And bade me stay, although my tale was known. 
Here in the shelter of their lonely cot, 
Where I might yet attain a not unhappy lot ! 

XXIIL 

But no — I could not stay in that sweet place. 
So changed, so fallen from all which once I was. 
And see reflected, in each well-known face, ^/ 

My shame and sorrow — never ! — human laws 
Were framed against me, while the unpitying cause 
Of all my misery, secure from blame, 
Pass'd the gay hours in mirth, nor made one pause 
To think of me in mournfulness and shame — 
Heaven might forgive, but man would scorn my blighted 
•name. 
15 



170 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XXIV. 

And I departed thence, with thanks and tears ; 
The meed I offer'd they declined to take, 
But pray'd Heaven would prolong my baby's years, 
That he might wrestle for his mother's sake ; 
And said, if misery came, that I might make 
Their home again my home — ye tender-hearted ! 
'Twas yours the fount of tenderer grief to wake ! 
And tears, unfeign'd and half-unconscious, started, 
As, slow and mournfully, once more I thence departed. 

XXV, 

Once more a weary wanderer — once more 
Without a shelter for the coming eve ! 
Why did I dream my woes would soon be o'er 1 
Why did my heart my reason thus deceive. 
To think the sinful could forget to grieve? 
Oh ! dream soon broken ! hope forgotten now ! 
Last feeling which the human heart can leave, 
Teach me again to trust the broken vow ! 
Friend of the desolate — in misery help me thou ! 

XXVI. 

I rested in the churchyard, where, alone. 
The verdant mound raised o'er his buried head, 
Mark'd by a rude and solitary stone. 
My father lay — the long-lamented dead ! 
I knelt, and many a bitter tear I shed. 
" O thou much injured, yet devoutly loved. 
Who first in infancy my footsteps led ! 
If pardon may be found for her who roved. 
And left thee lonely — oh, may Heaven, mayest thou be 
moved ! 



PART III. 171 

XXVII. 

" If days of agony and nights of tears 
Can aught atone for passion's, wild excess — 
If mercy e'en the worst of sinners cheers, 
When sunk in penitence and mournfulness — 
Oh ! then let Mercy hear my moan, and bless, 
Although unworthy, her who prostrate lies — 
Hear me in anguish and in bitterness ! 
If grief can reach thy home, beyond the skies, 
A late repentance take, since death the rest denies." 



XXVIII. 

All that remain'd, the grave, the silent grave 
Of him o'er whose unconscious form I pined, 
In early youth the generous and the brave. 
In age the tender-hearted and the kind, 
The past, the happy past ! rush'd o'er my mind. 
Tinging with hues, from Memory's painful dart, 
Those busy scenes with his dear image twined : 
And then the future struck upon my heart, — 
That future in which he should never bear a part. 



XXIX. 

That future came — sad months had roll'd away — 
Tears had been shed, and sighs been heaved in vain ; 
And I, that Rosalie, so young and gay. 
Was now a wither'd form of want and pain ; 
My voice, which now but sounded to complain 
Li hollow accents, startled e'en mij ear ; 
And my weak limbs could scarce the power retain 
To drag me forth, in lingeriug doubt and fear, 
Imploring food for him who now alone was dear. 



172 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XXX. 

Oh, Heaven ! the hour arrived when I had naught, 
When sick and sorrowful I gazed around, 
Knowing, alas ! the little store I brought 
Was all exhausted — where could help be found 1 
Hard hearts had they to whom I now was bound ; 
For the dark wretched room in which I lay 
They ask'd for payment — scarce the faltering sound 
Of vain excuse and vainer prayer to stay 
Had pass'd my lips, when stern they bade me speed 

away. 

» 

XXXI. 

" Away, and in the loneliness of night !" 
To wait fresh pain with ev'ry varying hour ; 
" Oh ! yet delay — abuse not thus your right ! 
List to the pelting of the dreary shower ! 
Angry and fierce the opposing tempests lower ; 
Oh ! yet till daylight !" — vain, alas ! the cry ! 
With brow repulsive, and resistless power, 
She thrust me forth beneath the inclement sky — 
Woman to woman did this deed of cruelty. 

XXXII. 

A miserable night of useless weeping, 
Shivering beneath the pillar'd portico 
Of some great house, where all were softly sleeping. 
Deaf to the storm that beat, the winds that blow. 
Reckless of those that wander to and fro. 
Houseless and homeless, near their proud abodes. 
Unconscious slumberers ! little do ye know 
The nightly weia;ht of misery which o'erloads 
Near you^ unpitied crowds, and to destruction goads ! 



PARt ttt. 173 

XXXIII. 

The morrow — and the gray and silent streets 
Swarra'd ^vith the varied multitudes anew, 
Still changing with each feverish hour that fleets. 
The busy many and the anxious few 
In quick succession pass before my view. 
And now my infant, pining in my arms, 
With cheeks like faded roses in the dew, 
Awoke in me a mother's dread alarms — 
Hunger and cold oppress' d and nipp'd his baby charms, 

XXXIV. 

The day wore on, the gleamy sun was settings 
A deep conviction stole upon my mind ; 
All but my cherish'd, innocent babe forgetting—- 
I rose — -I cried, " Have mercy, passers kind, 
Upon my child ! let misery pity find — 
Oh ! hear me" — -and they pass'd one after one. 
Some frown'd— some cast a pitying look behind, 
And some few gave — at length the day was gone, 
And then I bow'd my head, and wearily sank down. 



XXXV. 

But I had food for him, though I was left 
Unpitied thus to struggle with my fate — ■■ 
This ling'ring, mournful hope was not bereft, 
That he would live to feel a generous hate 
Of all the cold Restraints of pomp and state J 
And then, Avhen proud and beautiful he stood, 
His father would, repentant, though too late. 
Sigh o'er past evil, and neglected good, 
With useless te^rs, oft shed in penitontial mood, 
15* 



174 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XXXVI. 

''Twas not to be — day vanish'd after day, 
And fewer gave, and fainter grew my prayer— 
In vain I watch'd my baby as he lay — 
Night came — his couch was in the open air — 
What could avail a mother's tenderest care ! 
With miser hand — the pittance hoarded still, 
Dealt out to him alone a frugal fare. 
But to delay, not banish, future ill. 
While famine spared the babe whom misery was to kill. 



XXXVII. 

At last 'twas spent — I ask'd for alms in vain — 
Tired of relieving one who still pray'd on, 
With frowning brow they turn'd from sight of pain, 
With silent tongue and tearless eyes were gone. 
I waited till the close of day, but none 
Had taken pity on me, and I went 
Once more to him who doom'd me to be low ; 
Mothers are humble — o'er my child I bent ; 
/ rose to ask his alms who scorn'd the gold he sent. 



XXXVIII. 

Lonesome and wearily I reach'd the door, 
But he was gone — gone with his happy bride, 
Where — oh ! I ask'd not — wish'd to hear no more ; 
His heart was far away — the world was wide, 
And I was lonelier than all beside ! 
Another day of sad and anxious weeping ; 
Another day of famine — all denied ; 
Another night my mournful vigils keeping 
Above my pining child, whom hunger liinder'd sleeping. 



PART III, 175 

XXXIX. 

Drearily had the heavy days gone by, 
And Albert faded — fainter grew his cries — 
Oh ! ye that ever bent in agony 
Above your pallid infant ! ye that rise, 
And glance, half fearfully, with 'wilder'd eyes, 
Expecting death — then kneel in tears to pray, 
With tongue that speech, articulate, denies. 
That God will yet awhile the stroke delay ! 
Think what / suffer'd then, from weary day to day. 



XL. 

You softly place that little languid head, 
You tempt him with the comforts spread around, 
But I could envy now the meanest shed — 
My babe was starving — bless'd if I but found 
A morsel destined for the hungry hound ! 
Moving his pale sweet lips with grateful smile, 
Unwitting of the fate that o'er him frown'd ; 
His was the present — gladden'd for a while — 
The future mine^ of woe no hope might now beguile. 



XLI, 

There came a day — I sat alone — alone ! 
The dismal showers had drench'd my thread- worn dress, 
And, seated on the cold and dripping stone. 
Without the power to ask for alms — still less 
The strength to wander in my wretchedness. 
My dying baby laid upon my knee ; 
I look'd on those who pass'd, and sought to guess 
Wliere pity dwelt, still gazing wistfully, 
With hope, but half extinct, for that which could not be. 



176 THfi SORKOWS OF' KOSALIIS. 

XLII^ 

A cai-riage stapp^d—a lady richly dress'd 
Alighted, and I rose in doubt and fear — 
The faint and murmuring tones, hut half express'(}y 
Tell on a hardened heart and deafen'd ear ; 
She pass'd — I gazed— and felt the blow severe j 
But as she went, upon the stones there fell 
A sparkling cross, of jewels rich and rare ; 
Rush'd o^er my mind the thoughts that dared not dwell — » 
I had a child — 'that child !— oh I needs there more to tell t 



XLIII. 

I seized it— fled-— behind me rose a shout — 
On ! — on ! — my trembling knees could scarce sustain 
The weight above— ^near, nearer came the rout — - 
On ! on ! — 'oh ! shall the effort be in vain ? 
A few yards more, and then would end my pain — - 
I reach'd a shop— flung down the cross, and said, 
" Food for my child !" I could no more restrain 
My weakness and my woe — -I snatch' d th« bread, 
Gave it to him^ and sunk lifeless, unconscious, dead t 

XLIV. 

I woke — oh I would that I had slept for ever f 
Stern forms were standing round — ^I heard the cry 
Of that dear little one they sought to sever 
From his poor mother ! one long gasping sigh^ 
One lingering pause of nature's agony, 
And I recover'd : let it not be told 
What follow'd next— suffice it, that to die 
Contains no pang so sickening, deep, and cold, 
As that which rent my heart in that barbarian bold. 



PART III. IT7 

XLV. 

An hour, and I was pent in prison walls — 
The shriek of woe, the bursting sob, the tear — 
Not that, the soft and sad, which gently falls, 
But scalding bitterness was shedding here — 
Oh, God ! those prison'd hours, so long, so drear ! 
Still, still I feel the damp and heavy cell 
Strike on my numbing sense, palsied with fear ; 
Yet I had him, loved tenderly and well. 
Dear link of life, to whom I clung, whate'er befell. 

XLVL 

Where is my child 1 great God ! forgive these moans ! 
Forgive the question — wildly, vainly spoke ! 
'Tis over now, but then — ye sad gray stones, 
Graves of the lovely and the loved, revoke 
Your cruel mandate ; let the chain be broke. 
And give me back my own — my own ! alas ! 
'Tis mine no more — the dead may not be woke — 
Unfading treasures misers may amass. 
But rosy cheeks — ^bright eyes — like airy visions pass, 

XLVII. 

I watch'd — I pray'd — I knelt all desolate. 
While feverish throbb'd my baby's pulse — ^I tried 
Not to repine at the decrees of fate ; 
I sought for resignation — yea, I cried, 
" Thy will be done," — ^but no — it was denied. 
Oft as I gazed upon that flushing cheek — 
Oft as those eyelids turnM, submission died; 
I held his hand, so languid, faint, and weak. 
And laid my lips on his, with vain attempt to speak. 



178 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE. 

XLVIII. 

Three nights — the fourth, sleep closed my weary eyes 
While kneeling by his couch — a happier dream 
Stole o'er my mind — methought I saw him rise 
From slumber's arms, with eyes whose sunny beam 
Outshone his own — by our own trickling stream 
I stood, and still my father bless'd my boy, 
While bright and joyous, as on earth could seem. 
All shone around — ^'twas hope without alloy — 
A sound — a painful start — and broke my dream of joy. 

XLIX. 

I bent above mj child — the life was gone ! 
Cold was the hand and pulseless was the heart. 
And I was lock'd in darkness, and alone ! 
I could not watch the lingering ray depart 
From those half^conscious eyes — Death's silent dart 
Had pierced him whom the stormy lightning spared — • 
Whom faraiite fail'd to slay : a groan — a start — ■ 
Were welcomed now with rapture — Nature dared 
All agonies but one ; in silence she despair'd, 

L. 

Was it then true 1 — ^It was. — No hideous dream, 
" Making night horrible," obscured my sense — 
The soul was fled — ^how nothing all things seem 
When those we toil'd for are departed hence : 
There^ with a mournful silent eloquence, 
Rending my heart, lay the untasted crust — 
Alas ! the day they bore my infant thence, 
In vain I pray'd the merciful — ^the just — 
They laid my rosy babe low with the worm i' the dust. 



PART 111. 179 

LI. 

My trial came, and I could only say 
I lived — I breathed — I felt nor hope nor fear ; 
My thoughts were in a distant world, away 
With him who was — who once had been so dear ! 
One only sentence struck upon my ear, 
A question of that wretched day — " My Lord, 
She gave it to her child P"^ was answer'd — drear 
And dark as was my soul, \felt that word — 
My shriek so long, so wild, was never wilder heard. 

LIL 

It passM, that day, and then they set me free — 
I gazed in melancholy stupour round : 
The prison walls had been the same to me — 
Sorrow remain' d — sorrow that knew no bound ! 
They gave me shelter — /nor smiled nor frown'd — 
My heart was dead within me — sad I sate. 
With but one thought, my baby's grassy mound ; 
Night came — I rested — food was brought — I ate, 
Nor ever murmur made for my unhappy fate. 



LIII. 

Years have gone by — my thoughts have risen higher— 
I sought for refuge at the Almighty's throne ; 
And when I sit by this low mouldering fire, 
With but my Bible, feel not quite alone. 
Lingering in peace, till I can lay me down, 
Quiet and cold, in that last dwelling place, 
By him o'er whose young head the grass is grown — ; 
By him who yet shall rise with angel face, 
Pleading for me. the lost and sinful of my race. 



yc 



180 THE SORROWS OF ROSALIE, 

LIV. 

And if I still heave one reluctant sigh — 
If earthly sorrows still will cross my heart — 
If still to my now dimm'd and sunken eye 
The bitter tear, half check'd, in vain will start ; - 
I bid the dreams of other days depart, 
And turn, with clasping hands, and lips compressed, 
To pray that Heaven will soothe sad memory's smart : 
Teach me to bear and calm my troubled breast ; 
And grant her peacein Heaven who not on earth may 
rest. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ON THE PURPLE AND WHITE CARNATION. 

A FABLE. 



*TwA8 a bright May morn, and each opening flower 

Lay sunning itself in Flora's bower ; 

Young Love, who was fluttering round, espied 

The blossoms so gay in their painted pride ; 

And he gazed on the point of a feather'd dart, 

For mischief had filled the boy-god's heart ; 

And laugh'd as his bowstring of silk he drew, 

And away that arrow at random flew ; 

Onward it sped like a ray of light, 

And fell on a flower of virgin white, 

Which glanced all snowy and pure at the sun, 

And wept when his glorious course was run : 

Two little drops on its pale leaves lay 

Pure as pearls, but with diamond ray, 

(Like the tear on Beauty's lid of snow. 

Which waits but Compassion to bid it flow ;) 

It rested, that dart ; and its pointed tip 

Sank deep where the bees were wont to sip ; 



184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And the sickening flower gazed with grief 

On the purple stains which dimm'd each leaf, 

And the crystal drops on its leaves that stood 

Blush'd with sorrow and shame till they turn'd to blood. 

It chanced that Flora, wandering by, 

Beheld her floweret droop and die ! 

And Love laugh'd in scorn at the flower queen's woe, 

As she vainly shook its leaves of snow. 

Fled from her lip was the smile of light : — 

" Oh ! who hath work'd thee this fell despite ! 

Thou who did'st harm, alas ! to none. 

But joyed'st all day in the beams of the sun !" 

" 'Twas Love !" said the flower, and a scented sigh 

Loaded the gale that murmured by. 

'Twas Love ! and the dew drops that blush'd on the wound 

Sank slow and sad to the pitying ground. 

" 'Twas Love !" said Flora : " accursed be the power 
That could blight the bloom of so fair a flower. 
With whispers and smiles he wins Beauty's ears. 
But he leaves her nothing save grief and tears. 
Ye gods ! shall he bend with such tyranny still 
The weak and the strong to his wanton will 1 
No ! the hearts that he joins may rude discord sever; 
Accursed be his power for ever and ever." 

She spoke, and wept ; and the echo again 
Repeated the curse, but all in vain — 
The tyrant laugh'd as he flutter'd away. 
Spreading his rambow wings to the day. 
And settling at random his feather'd darts 
To spoil sweet flowers or break fond hearts. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 185 

He fled — and the queen o'er her flower in vahi 
Pour'd the evenhig dew and the April rain, 
The purple spots on her heart still were. 
And she said, as she wept her fruitless care, 
" The blight and the stain may be wash'd away, 
But what Love hath ruin'd must sink in decay." 

And she sent it on earth, to dwell below 

In the autumn fog and the winter snow. 

And even, 'tis said, on summer eves 

O'er that sad lost flower she wails and grieves ; 

And the drops that by mortals as dew are seen 

Are the tears of the mourning flower-queen. 

And when men are gazing with fond delight 
On its varied leaves and call them bright. 
And praise the velvet tints, and say 
There never was flower more pure and gay ; 
That floweret says, as it droops its head, 
" Alas ! for the day when by love I bled ; 
When my feathery flowers were pure and white, 
And my leaves had no earthly stain or blight, 
When no chilling blasts around me blew. 
And in Flora's garden of light I grew. 
Oh ! the blight and the stain may be wash'd away, 
But what Love hath ruin'd must sink in decay." 
16* 



186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE CAKELESS WORD. 



A WORD is ringing tkrough my brain, 
It was not meant to give me pain ; 
It had no tone to bid it stay, 
When other things had past away ; 
It had no meaning more than all 
Which in an idle hour fall : 
It was when first the sound I heard 
A lightly utter'd, careless word. 

That word — oh ! it doth haunt me now 
In scenes of joy, in scenes of woe ; 
By night, by day, in sun or shade, 
With the half smile that gently play'd 
Reproachfully, and gave the sound 
Eternal power thro' life to wound. 
There is no voice I ever heard. 
So deeply fix'd as that one word. 

When in the laughing crowd some tone, 
Like those whose joyous sound is gone, 
Strikes on my ear, I shrink— for then 
The careless word comes back again. 
When all alone I sit and gaze 
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze, 
Lo ! freshly, as when first 'twas heard, 
Returns that lightly utter'd word. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 187 

When dreams bring back the days of old, 
With all that wishes could not hold ; 
And from my feverish couch I start 
To press a shadow to my heart — 
Amid its beating echoes, clear, 
That little word I seem to hear : 
In vain I say, while it is heard, 
Why weep 1 — 'twas but a foolish word. 

It comes — and with it come the tears, 
The hopes, the joys of former years ; 

Forgotten smiles, forgotten looks ; 

Thick as dead leaves on autumn brooks, 

And all as joyless, though they were 

The brightest things life's spring could share. 

Oh ! would to God I ne'er had heard 

That lightly utter'd, careless word ! 

It was the first, the only one 

Of those which lips for ever gone 

Breathed in their love — -which had for me 

Rebuke of harshness at my glee : 

And if those lips were here to say, 

" Beloved, let it pass away," 

Ah ! then, perchance — but I have heard 

The last dear tone — the careless word ! 

Oh ! ye who, meeting, sigh to part, 
Whose words are treasures to some heart. 
Deal gently, ere the dark days come. 
When earth hath but for one a home ; 
Lest, musing o'er the past, like me. 
They feel their hearts WTung bitterly, 
And, heeding not what else they heard, 
Dwell weeping on a careless word. 



THEY LOVED ONE ANOTHER. 



They loved one another ! young Edward and his wife, 

And in their cottage-home they dwelt, apart from sin 
and strife. 

Each evening Edward weary came from a day of honest 
toil, 

And Mary made the fire blaze and smiled a cheerful 
smile. 

Oh ! what was wealth or pomp to them, the gaudy glit- 
tering show 

Of jewels blazing on the breast, where heaves a heart of 



woe 



The merry laugh, the placid sleep, were theirs ; they hated 

sloth, 
And all the little that they had, belong'd alike to both, 
For they loved one another I 

They loved one another ; but one 'of them is gone. 
And by that vainly cheerful hearth poor Edward sits 

alone. 
He gazes round on all which used to make his heart 

rejoice, 
And he misses Mary's gentle smile, he misses Mary's 

voice. 
There are many in this chilly world who would not care 

to part, 
Tho' they dwell together in one home, and ought to have 

one heart, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 189 

And yet they live ! while never more those happy ones 

may meet ; 
And the echo from her home is gone of Mary's busy feet : 
And they loved one another ! 

They loved one another ! but she hath pass'd away, 
And taken with her all the light, the sunshine of his day ; 
And Edward makes no loud lament, nor idly sits and 

mourns, 
But quietly goes forth at morn, and quietly returns. 
The cottage now is still and dark, no welcome bids him 

home, 
He passes it and wanders on, to sit by Mary's tomb. 
Oh ! weep my friends — for very sad and bitter it must be 
To yearn for some familiar face we never more may see — 
When we loved one another ! 



190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MY HEART IS LIKE A WITHERED NUT. 



My heart is like a wither'd nut, 

Rattling within its hollow shell; 
You cannot ope my breast, and put 

Any thing fresh with it to dwell. 
The hopes and dreams that fill'd it when 

Life's spring of glory met my view, 
Are gone ! and ne'er with joy or pain 

That shrunken heart shall swell anew. 

My heart is like a wither'd nut ; 

Once it was soft to every touch, 
But now 'tis stern and closely shut : — 

I would not have to plead with such. 
Each light-toned voice once clear'd my brow, 

Each gentle breeze once shook the tree 
Where hung the sun-lit fruit, which now 

Lies cold, and stiff, and sad, like me ! 

My heart is like a wither'd nut — 

It once was comely to the view ; 
But since misfortune's blast hath cut. 

It hath a dark and mournful hue. 
The freshness of its verdant youth 

Naught to that fruit can now restore ; 
And my poor heart, I feel in truth, 

Nor sun nor smile shall light it more ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 191 



MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 



I HAVE tasted each varied pleasure, 

And drunk of the cup of delight ; 
I have danced to the gayest measure 

In the halls of dazzling light. 
I have dwelt in a blaze of splendour, 

And stood in the courts of kings ; 
I have snatch'd at each toy that could render 

More rapid the flight of Time's wings. 
But vainly I've sought for joy or peace. 

In that life of light and shade ; 
And I turn with a sigh to my own dear homt 

The home where my childhood play'd ! 



When jewels are sparkling around me, 

And dazzling with their rays, 
I wept for the ties that bound me 

In life's first early days. 
I sigh for one of the sunny hours 

Ere day was turn'd to-night ; 
For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers, 

Instead of those jewels bright. 
I weep when I gaze on the scentless buds 

Which never can bloom or fade ; 
And I turn with a sigh to those gay green field 

The home where my childhood play'd. 



192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ESCAPE FROM THE SNARES OF LOVE. 



Young Love has chains of metal rare, 
Heavy as gold — yet light as air : 
It chanced he caught a heart one day 
Which struggled hard, as loath to stay. 

Prudence, poor thing, was lingering near — 
She whisper'd in the captive's ear, 
*' Cease, little flutterer ; bear thy chain. 
And soon thou shalt be free again !" 

No ; I assert my right to fly — 

The chain shall break, and Love shall die. 

What ! I remain a -willing slave 1 

No — freedom,, freedom, or the grave ! 

Meanwhile Love slumber'd by his prize, 
His languid limbs and closing eyes 
Prudence beheld — she spoke again, 
" Oh ! yet a moment bear thy chain !" 

Unheeded prayer ! the struggling heart 
Strove still the slender links to part. 
While timid Prudence gazed and sigh'd, 
Weary of strife and loath to chide. 

One moment more the links had broke. 
But slumbering Love, alarm'd, awoke : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 193 

With iron rivets bound the chain, 
And turn'd secure to sleep again. 

Let hearts which now in bondage weep, 
Repose, till wearied Love shall sleep : 
Oh ! struggle not, lest he should wake ! — 
Slip off the chain — it will not break. 
IT 



194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



IFS. 



Oh ! if the winds could whisper what they hear, 

When murmuring round the sunset through the grove ; 
If words were written on the streamlet clear, 

So often spoke fearlessly above : 
If tell-tale stars, descending from on high. 

Could image forth the thoughts of all that gaze, 
Entranced, upon that deep cerulean sky, 

And count how few think only of their rays ! 

If the lull'd heaving ocean could disjclose 

All that has pass'd upon her golden sand. 
When the moon-lighted waves triumphant rose. 

And dash'd their spray upon the echoing strand. 
If dews could tell how many tears have mix'd 

With the bright gem-like drops that Nature weeps, 
If night could say how many eyes are fix'd 

On her dark shadows, while creation sleeps ! 

If echo, rising from her magic throne. 

Repeated with her melody of voic j 
Each timid sigh — each ^^hisper'd word and tone. 

Which made the hearer's listening heart rejoice. 
If Nature could, uncheck'd, repeat aloud 

All she hath heard and seen — must hear and see — ■ 
Where would the Avhispering, vowing, sighing crowd 

Of lovers and their blushing partners, be 1 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 195 



AS WHEN FROM DREAMS AWAKING. 



As when from dreams awaking 

The dim forms float away 
Whose vision'd smiles were making 

Our darkness bright as day ; 
We vainly strive while weeping, 

From, their shining spirits rack, 
(Where they fled while we were sleeping,) 

To call those dear ones back ! 

Like the stars some power divides them 

From a world of want and pain : 
They are there, but daylight hides them, 

And we look for them in vain. 
For a while we dwell with sadness 

On the beauty of that dream. 
Then turn, and hail with gladness 

The light of morning's beam. 

So, when Memory's power is syringing 

Our lonely hearts to tears, 
Dim forms around us bringing 

That brighten'd former years : 
Fond looks and low words spoken. 

Which those dreamy days could boast, 
Rise; till the spell be broken. 

We forget that they are lost ! 



196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But when the hour of darkness rolls 

Like heavy night away ; 
And peace is stealing o'er our souls, 

Like the dawn of summer day : 
The dim sweet forms that used to bless, 

Seem stealing from us too ; 
We loved them — but joy's sunniness 

Hath hid them from our view ! 

Oh, could day beam eternally, 

And Memory's power cease, 
This world a world of light would be, 

Our hearts were worlds of peace : 
But dreams of joy return with night. 

And dwell upon the past — 
And every grief that clouds our light, 

Reminds us of the last ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 197 



OLD FRIENDS. 



How they are waned and faded from our hearts, 

The old companions of our early days ! 
Of all the many loved, which name imparts 

Regret when blamed, or rapture at its praise 1 
What are their several fates, by Heaven decreed, 

They of the jocund heart, and careless brow ? 
Alas ! we scarcely know and scarcely heed, 

Where, in this world of sighs, they wander now. 

See, how with cold faint smile, and courtly nod, 

They pass, whom wealth and revelry divide — 
Who walk'd together to the house of God, 

Read from one book, and rested side by side : ' 
No look of recognition lio;hts the eve 

Which laughingly hath met that fellow-face ; 
With careless hands they greet and wander by, 

Who parted once with tears and long embrace. 

Oh, childhood ! blessed time of hope and love, 

When all we knew was Nature's simple law, 
How may we yearn again that time to prove. 

When we look'd round, and loved whate'er we saw. 
Now dark suspicion wakes, and love departs. 

And cold distrust its well-feign'd smile displays ; 
And they are ^VTlned and faded from our hearts, 

The old companions of our early days! 
17* 



198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



THE BRIBE. 



She is standing by her loved one's side, 

A young and a fair and a gentle bride, 

But mournfulness hath cross'd her face 

Like shadows in a sunny place, 

Ajid wistfully her eye doth strain 

Across the blue and distant main. 

My home ! my home ! — I would I were 

Again in joyous gladness there ! 

My home ! my home ! — I would I heard 

The singing voice, like some small bird, 

Of him, our mother's youngest child, 

With light soft step, and features mild. — 

I would I saw that dear one now. 

With the proud eye and noble brow. 

Whose very errors were more loved 

Than all our reason most approved. 

And she my fairy sister, she. 

Who was the soul of childish glee ; 

Who loved me so — oh, let me hear 

Once m.ore those tones familiar, dear. 

Which haunt my rest ; and I will smile 

Even as I used to do erewhile. 

I know that some have fall'n asleep — 

I know that some have learnt to weep — 

But my heart never feels the same 

As when those light steps round me came ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 199 

And sadness weighs my heavy eye 
Beneath this cheerless stranger sky ; 
Tho' fewer now might round me come — 
It is my home — my own old home ! 



She is back again in her sunny home, 
And thick and fast the beatings come 
Of that young heart, as round she sees 
The same sweet flowers, the same old trees ; 
But they the living flowers she loved, 
Are they the same? are they unmoved? — 
No — Time, which withers leaf and stem. 
Hath thrown his withering change o'er them. 
Where there was mirth, is silence now — 
Where there was joy, a darken'd brow — 
The bounding step hath given place 
To the slow-stealing mournful pace ; 
The proud bright eye is now less proud, 
By time, and thought, and sickness bow'd. 
And the light singing voice no more 
Its joyful carols echoes o'er. 
But whispers ; fearfiil some gay tone 
May wake the thought of pleasures gone. 
It is her home — but all in vain 
Some lingering things unchanged remain ; 
The present wakes no smile — the past 
Hath tears to bid its memory last. 
She knew that some were gone — but oh ! 
She knew not — youth can never know 
How furrow'd o'er with silent thought 
Are brows which grief and time have taught. 
The murmuring of some shadowy word, 
Which was a name — which now, unheard, 



200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

May wander thro' the clear cold sky, 
Or wake the echo for reply : 
The lingering pause in some bright spot 
To dream of those who now are not : 
The gaze that vainly seeks to trace 
Lost feelings beaming on a face 
Where time and sorrow, guilt and care, 
Have past and left their withering there : — ■ 
These are her joys ; and she doth roana 
Around her dear but desert home ; 
Peopling the vacant seats, till tears arise, 
And blot the dim sweet vision from her eyes* 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 201 



THE PILGRIM OF LIFE. 



Pilgrim, who toilest up life's weary steep, 

To reach the summit still with pleasure crown'd ; 
Born but to sigh and smile, to sin and weep ; 

Dost mark the busy multitudes around 1 
Dost mourn, with those who tread with fainting feet, 

And blighted worn-out heart, the self-same road 1 
Dost laugh with those who think their travel sweet, 

And deem existence no unwelcome load ? — 
Ah, no ! unconscious of their joy or woe, 

Quick hurrying onward still, or gazing back, 
With feeble lustre round their planet glow 

A few beloved, connected with thy track ; 
Dear links of life, for whom to toil is bliss ; 

Circlet of stars in young hope's diadem ; 
Gay lightsome hearts who know no joy but this — 

To be together is enough for them. 
Thou pausest on thy way — one light is set — 

No power of love relumes the torch of life; 
Whate'er it was, 'tis lost — and vain regret 

Pursues the rosy babe, or ftiithful wife. 
Tis past — 'tis gone — the brightness of those eyes 

Can cheer no more thy melancholy home : 
But grief may not endure — new joys arise ; 

The past is not — but thou hast years to come ! 
New joys arise — eager thou pressest on, 

Hope's brilliant mockery deceiving still. 



202 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And now thou weepest o'er delusions gone, 

Now hail'st with transport days devoid of ill.- 
Yet ever as thou goest on thy way, 

However bright may be the present hour, 
Clings to thy mind with brightest, purest ray. 

The joy thou couldst not hold, the faded flower — 
Still dearest seems the past ; and as each light, 

Extinguish'd, leaves thee lone, through memory's tears 
More dim the ^(ure rises to thy sight, 

More bright the visions of thine early years. 
Pilgrim of Life ! why slackenest thou thy speed ? 

Why is that brow of eager hope o'ercast 1 
A pause — a struggle — and the hour decreed 

Mingles for aye the present with the past ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 203 



THE CAPTIVE PIRATE. 



The captive pirate sat alone, 
Musing over triumphs gone, 
Gazing on the clear blue sky 
From his dungeon windo\Y high. 
'Dreamingly he sat, and thought 
Of battles he had seen and fought ; 
And fancy o'er him threw her spell. 
He deem'd he had not bid farewell 
To the friends who loved him best : 
O'er the white wave's snowy crest 
Seems he now once more to sail, 
Borne by the triumphant gale : 
Cheerily the light bark bounds, 
In his ears the music sounds 
Of hoarsely mingling waves and voices, 
And his inmost soul rejoices ! 
He gives the signal of command, 
He waves — he drops — the lifted hand ! 
It was a sound of clashing steel — 
Why starts he thus ? what doth he feel ? 
The clanking of his iron chain 
Hath made him prisoner again ! 
He groans, as memory round him brings 
The shades of half-forgotten things. 
His friends ! his faithful friends ! a sigh 
Bursts from that bosom swelling high. 



204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

His bark ! his gallant bark ! — a tear 
Darkens the eye that knew not fear. 
And another meaner name 
Must lead his men to death or fame ! 
And another form must stand 
(Captain of his mourning band) 
On the deck he trod so well, 
While his bark o'er ocean's swell 
Is sailing far, far out at sea. 
Where he never more may be ! 
Oh! to be away once more 
From the dark and loathsome shore ! 
Oh ! again the sound to hear 
Of his ship's crew's hearty cheer ! 
Souls who by his side have stood, 
Careless of their ebbing blood. 
Wiped the death-dew from their brow, 
And feebly smiled their truth to show ! 
Little does the pirate deem 
Freedom now were but a dream ; 
Little does the chieftain think 
That his lost companions drink 
Strugglingly the salt sea wave. 
Once their home, and now their grave ! 
And the bark from which they part, 
(While his sad and heavy heart 
Yearns to tread her gallant deck,) 
Helpless lies, a heaving wreck ! 



And little will they deem, who roam 
Hereafter in their floating home, 
While their sunlit sail is spread. 
That it gleams above the dead^ 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 205 

That the faithless wave rolls on 
Calmly, as they were not gone, 
While its depths warm hearts doth cover, 
Whose beatings were untimely over ! 
And little will they deem, who stand 
Safe upon the sea-girt land, 
That to the stranger all it gave 
Was — a prison and a grave ! 
That the ruin'd fortress towers 
Number'd his despairing hours, 
And beneath their careless tread, 
Sleeps — the broken-hearted dead ! 
18 



206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



I WAS NOT FALSE TO THEE. 



[ WAS not false to thee^ and yet 

My cheek alone look'd pale ! 
My weary eye was dim and wet, 

My strength began to fail. 
Thou wert the same ; thy looks were gay, 

Thy step was light and free ; 
And yet with truth my heart can say, 

/was not false to thee! 

I was not false to thee ; yet now 

Thou hast a cheerful eye ; 
"With flushing cheek and drooping brow 

/wander mournfully. 
I hate to meet the gaze of men, 

I weep where none can see ; 
Why do /only sufler, when 

/ was not false to thee ? 

I was not false to thee ; yet oh ! 

How scornfully they smile, 
Who see me droop, who guess my woe, 

Yet court thee all the while. 
'Tis strange! but when long years are past, 

Thou wilt remember me ; 
Whilst I can feel until the last, 

/ was not false to thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 207 



THE GREEK GIRL'S LAMENT FOR HER LOVER. 



Imra ! thy form is vanish'd 

From the proud and patriot band ; 
Imra ! thy voice is silent, 

'Mongst the voices of the land. 
And bravely hast thou fallen ; 

In joy didst thou depart ; 
Their chains shall never bind thee, 

Young hero of my heart ! 

But with thee the dream is over 
That bound my soul so long ; 

And the words of fame and glory 
' Have vanish'd from my song : 

My heart which bounded proudly 
Is as sad as sad can be ; 

I thought it beat for freedom, 
But I feel it beat — -for thee. 

I thought the victory's triumph 

Would have made my soul rejoice, 
But that was when I listen'd 

To the music of thy voice. 
The dreams of fame and conquest, 

op my country being free ; 
What love were they to Zoe, 

But most blessed dreams of thee? 



208 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

It is past — thy voice may never 

Speak of triumph or of love ; 
And the l)right hope that was burning 

Hath flown with thee above. 
This earth contains no dwelling, 

No land of rest for me ; 
"When Hellas was my country, 

I dwelt in it with thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 209 



OH! LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER RILL. 



Oh ! life is like the summer rill, where weary daylight 
dies ; 

We long for morn to rise again, and blush along the skies. 

For dull and dark that stream appears, whose waters in 
the day, 

All glad in conscious sunniness, went dancing on their way. 

But when the glorious sun hath 'woke and look'd upon 
the earth, 

And over hill and dale there float the sounds of human 
mirth ; 

We sigh to see day hath not brought its perfect light 
to all, 

For with the sunshine on those waves, the silent sha- 
dows fall. 

Oh ! like that changeful summer rill, our years go gliding 

Now bright with joy, now dark with tears, before youth's 

eager eye. 
And thus we vainly pant for all the rich and golden glow, 
Which young hope, like an early sun, upon its course 

can throw. 
Soon o'er our half illumined hearts the stealing shadows 

come. 
And every thought that woke in light receives its share 

of gloom. 
And we weep while joys and sorrows both are fading 

from our view, 
To find, wherever sunbeams fall, the shadow cometh too ! 
18* 



210 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



WHEN POOR IN ALL BUT HOPE AND LOVE. 



When, poor in all but hope and love, 

I clasp'd thee to my faithful heart ; 
For wealth and fame I vow'd to rove, 

That we might meet no more to part ! 
Years have gone by — ^long weary years 

Of toil, to win thee comfort now — 
Of ardent hopes — of sickening fears^- 

And wealth is mine — ^but where art thou ? 

[Fame's dazzling dreams, for thy dear sake, 

Rose brighter than before to me ; 
I clung to all I deem'd could make 

My burning heart more worthy thee. 
Years have gone by — -the laurel droops 

In mockery o'er my joyless brow : 
A conquer' d world before me stoops, 

And Fame is mme — ^but where art thou ? 

In life's first hours, despised and lone, 

I wander'd through the busy crowd ; 
But now that life's best hopes are gone. 

They greet with pride and murmurs loud. 
Oh ! for thy voice ! thy happy voice, 

To breathe its laughing welcome now ; 
Wealth, fame, and all that should rejoice, 

To me are vain- — for where art thou ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 211 



WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER. 



We have been friends together, 

In simshme and m shade; 
Since first beneath the chestnut trees 

In infancy we play'd. 
But coldness dwells within thy heart, 

A cloud is on thy brow ; 
We have been friends together — 

Shall a light word part us now 1 

We have been gay together — 

We have laugh'd at little jests ; 
For the fount of hope was gushing 

Warm and joyous in our breasts. 
But laughter now hath fled thy lip, 

And sullen glooms thy brow ; 
We have been gay together — 

Shall a light word part us now? 

We have been sad together, 

We have wept with bitter tears, 
O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumber'd 

The hopes of early years. 
The voices which are silent there 

Would bid thee clear thy brow ; 
We have been sad together — 

Oh ! what shall part us now 1 



212 - M 1 S C E L L A N E O U S P O E M S . 



THE BOATSWAIN'S SONG. 



'So we cheer''d to keep our hearts iip." 

LoKD Nugent. 



A CHEER to keep our hearts up, 

A cup to drown our tears, 
And we'll talk of those who perish'd, 

Our mates m former years. 
The Betsey was a vessel 

As tight as ship could be — 
And we cheer'd to keep our hearts up, 

As she toss'd upon the sea. 

Thro' one dark day we struggled - 

To stem the foaming tide ; 
Night came — the straining vessel 

All helplessly did ride. 
The storm was raging loudly, 

The angry heavens did frown — 
A cheer to keep your hearts up — 

The Betsey, she went down ! 

The morning broke which many 

Might never see again, 
And thick and blind and heavy 

Came down the drenching rain : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 213 

We got the smallest boat out, 

Jack, Tom, and I, and gave 
A cheer to keep our hearts up. 

As we toil'd against the wave. 

Three days we struggled onward, 

Without a sight of land ; 
And we grew so faint and failing. 

We could scarcely bear a hand. 
It's a bitter thing to battle, 

With the ocean for your foe ; 
We cheer'd to keep our hearts up, 

But the cheer was hoarse and low. 

Then we thought, with sinking spirits, 

Of the shore we'd never see : 
Tom wept, and thought of Mary — 

Jack talk'd of home with me. 
Each brawny arm grew fainter, 

The boat was thinly stored : 
A cheer to keep your hearts up — 

Poor Jack went overboard ! 

At last, somehow we landed 

Where the cliff was steep and high ; 
We told Jack's poor old mother, 

(We were too much men to cry,) 
They'd ha' liked to see me Boatswain, 

The Betsey's gallant crew, 
Come, a cheer to keep our hearts up, 

We shall all of us die too. 



214 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE BRIDAL DAY. 



Go forth, young bride ! the future lies before thee ; ' 

Hidden in clouds are all the coming hours ; 
None, none can tell what lot is brooding o'er thee ; 

How much thy path contains of thorns and flowers. 
Thy childhood's home, where thou wert late reposing, 

In happy slumbers, innocent and free. 
This night excludes thee, when its doors are closing. 

Only a visitor henceforth to be ! 

Leaving that home, hast thou secured another, 

Standing wide open to receive thy feet ; 
Loved by his sisters, welcome to his mother. 

Shall kindly smiles thy gracious presence meet "? 
Or boldest thou in fear, that dreadful treasure, 

Love's only anchorage in one human heart, — 
Learning its strength of silver links to measure, 

When friends and foes alike conspire to part 1 

Art thou beloved, and dost thou love him truly, 

By whom, with whom, thy lot of life is cast 1 
Or hast thou rashly, weakly, and unduly. 

In wrath, or scorn, or grief, thus seal'd the past 1 
If stung by memories thou must dissemble. 

Of one who left thee, (fickle and unkind !) 
Thy pride thus seeks to wound the inconstant, — tremble ! 

Back to thy heart that shaft its way shall find ! 

Woe for the bitter day, too late repenting 
Th' irrevocable step, the broken rest, — 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. • 215 

When thou shalt lean thy weary head, lamenting, 
On the lost refuge of thy mother's breast ! 

There, in the recklessness of early sorrow. 
Holding no hope of brighter days to come, — 

Yearning to die before the darken'd morrow, 

And be calm — buried near thy childhood's home ! 

Shalt thou, in this strange world of serpent slander. 

Escaping all its venom and deep shame, 
In tranquil paths obscurely happy wander, 

Where none shall point thee out, for praise or blame 1 
Or shalt thou dwell in mingled smiles and frowning, 

Half envied, half enshrined, by Fashion's slaves ; 
Then, shipwreck'd sink, like one who suffers drowning 

After vain struggle with opposing waves 1 

Will he, thy mate, be true to vows of duty, 

Or shalt thou weep, with eyelids veil'd and dim, 
The lost advantage of thy powerless beauty, 

Which, praised by others, kept no hold on him ? 
Shall some fair temptress, like a dazzling meteor. 

Teach him thy more familiar charms to slight — 
Thy deep love weigh'd against each novel feature, 

A balance sated custom renders light ? 

Who shall decide 1 Thy bridal day ! Oh, make it 

A day of sacrament and fervent prayer. 
Though every circumstance conspire to take it 

Out of the common prophecy of care ! 
Let not vain merriment and giddy laughter 

Be the last sound in thy departing ear, — 
For God alone can tell what cometh after. 

What store of sorrow, or what cause for fear ! 
Go forth, young bride ! 



216 * MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



FLORENCE. 



" Of all the fairest cities of the earth, 

None is so fair as Florence !"* — So wrote one 

With whom the spirit of true Beauty walks 

Attendant and familiar : he who made 

His " Italy" our guide-book and companion 

To all the memories of that sunny land, 

Which now and ever, in compatriot hearts. 

Must co-exist with memory of him. 

Therefore I quoted him. When leaving Florence 

With three companions, (one a sculptor, — one 

A painter yet unknown to future fame, — 

And one a gentle maid,) we four agreed, 

Half jesting, half in earnest, to look back, 

And speak farewells to that delightful spot. 

" Farewell !" the sculptor said ; " a long farewell, 

City of statues ! Farewell, Parian Venus, 

Whose form of beauty cannot fade or change ! 

We drop and wither like the autumn leaves, 

Closing the eyes that saw thee in blind death. 

As age succeeds to age ; but thou, sweet marble, 

Shalt greet the generations yet to come 

With freshness of imperishable charm 1" 

" And farewell," said the painter, " lovely city ! 

That liest in the glow of southern light, 

* Rogei-s's Italy. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 217 

Holding within thy bosom pictured stores 

Of richest value : farewell, ancient city, 

Where Raphael and Angelo look'd forward, 

In the strong hope of an inspired youth, 

To glory all the world looks back upon !" 

Then spoke the maid ; but after much persuasion, 

And blushing even to her downcast eyes : 

And still the lower sank her voice, the more 

Our hearts stx)od still to listen : yet she said 

Nothing but "Farewell, Florence!" Farewell, 

Florence ! 
How often, when I wake, and when I dream, 
The unutterable shadow of sweet thoughts 
That pass'd across her brow, — the gentle tone 
Which, like a chord of music singly struck. 
Held several parts of melody, — the blush 
Of innocent confusion on her cheek, — 
Return to haunt and thrill my inmost soul, 
As in the silence following those words ! 
19 



218 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ARCADIAN SHADES. 



' Et ego in Arcadia.' 



The shepherd sits beneath the bough, 
With ruddy cheek and even brow ; 
The green trees shade his careless head, 
Their gnarled roots around him spread ; 
Across the streamlet flowing near 
His fluted pipes sound loud and clear ; 
Soft springs the moss beneath his feet, — 
Sing, " Oh, the shepherd's life is sweet !" 

Tho' storms may come, with sudden showers, 

Tho' wild winds blow, thro' darken'd hours, 

'Tis sweet to watch the clouds, and spy 

Blue windows in that leaden sky ; 

To see the sun come forth ; the throng 

Of wild birds dip and soar along ; 

All Nature's freshen'd charm to greet, — 

Sing, " Oh, the shepherd's life is sweet !" 



Or stretch'd full length, in summer's prime, 
Upon a bank of scented thyme. 
To watch the white flocks nibbling feed, 
The swaying of the water-reed, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 219 

Where, half a yard beyond the brink, 
The cattle, stooping down to drink, 
Their own bright shadows bend to meet, — 
Sing, " Oh, the shepherd's life is sweet !'* 

Those sleck-fcd kine, with Juno's eyes. 

So patient-calm, so gravely wise, 

I love to watch them onward go, 

With heavy tread, demure and slow ; 

I love to see the maidens come 

To milk their charge and guide them home, 

With side-long smile, and bare-white feet, — 

Sing, " Oh, the shepherd's life is sweet!" 

And one young maiden loveth me 
With honest meek simplicity ; 
And, while the patient creature stands 
Beneath her kind familiar hands. 
Her blushing cheek bends lowly down, 
With half a laugh, and half a frown. 
While I my true-love vows repeat, — 
Sing, " Oh, the shepherd's life is sweet !" 

And when the daylight waneth fast. 
And hours of lightsome toil are past. 
And, changing like a pleasant dream. 
The sunset melts to moonlight gleam ; 
Then lingering on our homeward way, 
We whisper all the words we say. 
And almost hear the heart's loud beat, — 
Sing, " Oh, the shepherd's life is sweet !" 



220 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



PICTURE LIFE. 



"There are more tilings in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamed of in your philosophy." 

Shakspeabe. 

[A. superstition exists among the American Indians that it is unlucky to 
liave a portrait taken, as a portion of the life and strength of tbe person 
copied is transfen-ed to the picture. The Chief of one of their war-tribes 
being in prison, endeavoured to prevent the possibility of taking Jiis likeness, 
by biding his face on bis folded arms. This Chief died in captivity.} 



Young girl, that wanderest musing, pensive, slow, 

Through the dim. picture-gallery for hours,— - 
Thy white robe fluttering gently to and fro. 

Like a winged insect settling among flowers, — 
Why dost thou think of us as of the dead ? 

We are alive, though not with life like thine ; 
Dumb, but yet conscious, we await thy tread ; 

Helpless and silent, for thy presence pine ! 
Canst thou believe the double pulse that stirr'd 

The busy beating of two human hearts, — 
The painter's life, who to a blank transferr'd 

A pictured form which never thence departs, — 
And theirs, who sat, full of unspoken dreams. 

So mutely still for copying, while he brought 
Into the faint-sketch'd features vivid gleams 

Of the quick passing daylight, — went for naught ; 
And that the silent studio, when he lock'd 

The unfinish'd task of days of patient care, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 2'il 

Held only dreams the sense of sight to mock, 
Cold painted effigies of what was fair 1 



Ah ! poorly purchased with such wealth of pains 

The me-aner triumphs of his art would be, 
But that his work a living spell retains, — 

Like gentle Ariel prison'd in the tree ! 
And hence the haunting power to pictures given, — 

Tlie quaint conceits that force a sudden smile,— 
The saint-like forms which lift the thoughts to heaven, — 

The love-dreams which our beating hearts beguile. 
Yea, the worst drawing, some unskilful elf 

Unworthily hath hung upon the wall, 
Like a weak infant, holds within itself 

Some measure of the life which dwells in all. 



Look round upon us, young believing heart, 

With warm breath sighing on thy fresh red lip ; 
Look round upon us, nail'd and hung apart ; 

Cluster'd and grouped in strange companionship ! 
Here, Raphael, for ever gazing forth 

With passionate and melancholy eyes, 
Watches for beauty in the pale cold North, 

Or dreams of Southern lands and sunny skies : — 
Here the pale Ceuci's sorrowful appeal 

Subdues the heart to pity as of yore : — 
Here the tried Patriarch stays the lifted steel. 

And listens to the awful Voice once more: — 
Here, little Loves, with eyes that wanton roll, 

And garlands flying round them, throng the air : — 
Or meek Madonnas fill the inward soul 

With deep reflection of unspoken prayer. 
19* 



222 MISCELLAi^EOUS POEMS. 

And / am here ! who may not woo thy gaze, 

Noi^ call thee, though of all my joy bereft, 
In the dim twilight of departing days, 
- When the long gallery thy feet have left, 
No longer echoes to a living sound, 

But dark and darker still the shadows come, 
Blotting me out, with all the objects round, 

And covering with a veil thine ancient home. 
Oh, Night ! blank pause, wherein 1 see thee not. 

Nor hear thee, nor await thee : cold, and dull. 
And desolate Night, embittering my lot. 

Which seem'd already bitter to the full ! 
When I—for ever wakeful— hear each chime 

Of the revolving hours, while thou art sleeping, 
Thro' the slow midnight into morning prime 

Thy closed eyes in a happy slumber keeping, — 
Beautiful eyes ! whose tender, humid ray. 

Like a spring rain, refreshes my worn sight, — 
Heaven bless the light that enters them by day, 

And the soft lids that cover them by night ! — ■ 
Oh, how I love to see thy sweet form stand. 

Musing and pensive, with a statue's grace. 
Holding aside thy ringlets with thy hand. 

And looking fearless in my pictured face ; 
Not without vague and feminine wish to learn 

What feats of glory crown'd my blood-stain'd sword. 
Ah ! love, had I the power to look less stern. 

And whisper in thine ear one gentle word ! 



Never again believe the pictured eyes 

That meet thine own with ever watchful glance, 

Are but the blending of commingled dyes,— 
A combination rare of skill and chance ! 



MISCELLANEOtfS POEMS. 223 

Never again believe the look of woe 

Hath not some sense obscure of mortal pain ! 
Never again believe Love's ardent glow 

Is but the radiance of a painted stain ! 
Believe in Picture Life ! though thou wert born 

In this prosaic, scientific age, 
Which laughs all dreaming mystery to scorn, 

And tears from Nature's book its magic page. 
And, oh ! come often to this long dim room. 

And pause beneath this dull frame where I live ; 
For to my weary life of silent gloom, 

Joy, light, and sunshine, thou hast power to give ! 



224 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 



In the young light of her beauty she came forth ! 

Wo is me ! 
With her bracelets, and her jewels, and her rings, 
Fair to see : 
In clothing proud and gay, 
As was meet for rich array, 
When a warrior won the day 
Gallantly ! 

In the hurry of her welcome she came forth ! 

And she smiled ; 
For she deem'd her father's triumph should be hers, 
(Hapless child !) 
And with white and twinkling feet 
She came dancing on, to meet 
The death- word she must greet, 
Dark and wild ! 

To the sound of gladdening music she came forth ! 

With a song. 
Which her young companions chorus'd, as they flew 
Light along! 
Darkly glooms her father's brow 
As he looks upon her now ; 
He is thinking of his vow, 
Rash and wrong ! 



M I S C E L L A N E O n S POEMS. 225 

She shall never greet his proud return again ! 

Nevermore ! 
He shall never hear the welcome sweetly said 
Heretofore ! 
He shall never see her come 
From the portals of his home, 
For her place is in the tomb ; — 
Life is o'er ! 

He hath doom'd her, in his rash ambitious hope : 

(Hear him groan !) 
Was the victory over thousands worth the loss 
Of that one ? 
Will it nerve him so to bear 
All this weight of dreadful care, 
That he dies not of despair, 
When alone ? 

Oh ye fathers, ye can answer with what pangs 

He was tried. 
When the rosebud in the desert of his home 
Eoughly died ; 
By the innocent young face, — 
By the cordial soft embrace, — 
By the daughter's simple grace, — 
At your side ! 



226 MISCELLANEOUS TOEMS. 



BINGEN. 



A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of 

woman's tears ; 
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood 

ebb'd away. 
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might 

say. 
The dying soldier falter'd, as he took that comrade's 

hand, 
And he said, " I never more shall see my own, my native 

land; 
Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of 

mine, 
For I was born at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Rhine. 

" Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and 

crowd around. 
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard 

ground. 
That we fought the battle bravely, — and when the day 

was done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting 

sun. 
And, midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in 

wars, — 
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of 

many scars : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 227 

But some were young, — and suddenly beheld life's morn 

decline, — 
And one had come from Bingen, — fair Bingen on the 

Ehine! 



" Tell my mother, that her other sons shall comfort her 

old age, 
And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a 

cage : 
For my father was a soldier, and even as a child 
My heart leap'd forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce 

and wild ; 
And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 
I let them take whate'er they would — but kept my 

father's sword; 
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light 

used to shine, 
On the cottage-wall at Bingen, — calm Bingen on the 

Rhine. 



" Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with droop- 
ing head. 

When the troops are marching home again, with glad 
and gallant tread. 

But look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast 
eye, 

For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. 

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask 'her in my name 

To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; 

And to hang the old sword in its place, (my father's 
sword and mine,) 

For the honour of old Bingen, — dear Bingen on the Rhine ! 



228 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

" There's another — ^not a sister ; — in the happy days 

gone by, 
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled 

in her eye ; 
Too innocent for coquetry — too fond for idle scorning, — 
Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes 

heaviest mourning ! 
Tell her the last night of my life — (for ere this moon be 

risen, 
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison,) 
I dream'd I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight 

shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, — ^fair Bingen on the 

Rhine! 

- " I saw the blue Rhine sweep along — I heard, or seem'd 

to hear, 
The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and 

clear ; 
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 
That echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm 

and still : 
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we pass'd with 

friendly talk, 
Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remem- 

ber'd walk ; 
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine, — 
But we'll meet no more at Bingen, — loved Bingen on the 

Rhine." 

His voice grew faint and hoarser, — ^his grasp was child- 
ish weak, — 

His eyes put on a dying look, — he sigh'd, and ceased to 
speak : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 229 

His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had 

fled,— 
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead ! 
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she look'd 

down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses 

strewn ; 
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seem'd 

to shine, 
As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 
20 



280 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ELYIRA. 

A FRAGMENT. 



And she will come — ^her sweet lute strung behind, 

And, her dark tresses streaming to the wind. 

Death on her cheek, and madness in her air, 

Will rave in all the wildness of despair. — 

Oh ! how can our existence be so dear, 

Embitter'd by the frequent burning tear 1 

Why were we form'd to live, to die in pain. 

To wish for what to hope, alas ! were vain — 

While senseless, soulless, grovelling forms of clay 

Laugh at the pangs they cannot chase away ? 

Oh ! what is memory, what is hope 1 

Memory ! a dream — within whose boundless scope 

All we have loved comes rushing o'er the mind : 

We wake to weep o'er joys we've left behind. 

Hope ! 'tis the expectation unfiilfill'd, 

When all our fairest views are blighted, kill'd ; 

'Tis the delusion sent, by heavenly care, 

To save mankind from horror and despair — 

Delusion oft repeated, oft destroy'd, 

That still deceitful fills the aching void 

Of hearts that camiot look beyond a scene 

Which soon may be as it had never been. 

Tken she will cease, and gaze full wistfully 

On pity's tear, that trembles in mine eye. 

As if her glimmering light half served to show 

Elvira's wrongs had caused that tear to flow ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 231 

And she will lay her hand upon mine arm, 

And raise those eyes of soul-subduing charm, 

Whose speaking rays of trembling blue unfold 

All that her wandering speech hath left untold ; 

And, throwing back the locks her brow that veil, 

Will wildly whisper forth her mournful tale : 

" Bright beneath dazzling painted lamps there shone 

The gilded splendour of the Spanish throne, 

While merrily the inspiring music sounded, 

And swift and gracefully the light foot bounded ; 

And lords and ladies, oh ! as bright and fair 

As stars in a dark heaven, were gather'd there. 

But I saw one, in whose blue eye the light 

Than painted dazzling lamps was far more bright ; 

The silver music of whose voice, to me. 

Was sweeter than sounds of minstrelsy ; 

To whom more beauty of its kind was given 

Than any of those glancing stars of heaven : 

And as those beauteous orbs of light shine on, 

Reckless of whom or what they smile upon. 

So beautiful, so cold, my path he cross'd. 

Unconscious at each step a heart was lost ; 

And one, which came as light and free as air, 

Fell from the height of joy to dark despair — 

I saw but him, though he saw all but me — • 

Deep lies his image in my memory. 

And think not, loved one, though we part for ever, 

That bands the heart entwine so soon can sever ; 

Oft, oh ! still oft, shall steal across my soul 

The thoughts I vainly labour to control ; 

And as my parting look on Carlos fell. 

To think, though not to breathe, a sad farewell — 

The tear unbidden started to mine eyes. 

Forlorn as Eve gazed back on Paradise." ^ 



232 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Now she hath ceased — her white arm raised on high, 
The soul of love is beaming in her eye : 
But memory soon hath quench'd that meteor ray, 
And she hath turn'd to wend her weary way ; 
And bending o'er her lute's bewildering strings, 
To hide her tears, thus mournfully she sings : — 

Oh ! are we doom'd to part 1 

And is thy maid forsaken? 
Then give me back my heart — 

The heart which thou hast taken. 

The blushing flower is dead, 

Ere yet we' see it blowing ; 
And man's false love is fled, 

While echo breathes his vowing ! 

As summer winds that blow, 

As rivers swiftly gliding ; 
So quick her flight to woe. 

In such frail love confiding. 

Then steel your hearts, ye fair ! 

Ere yet you feel them burning ; 
For mine is gone, and care 

Eorbids its e'er returning. 

Thus sings she, dewy flowerets weep to hear — 

E'en the inconstant rose will drop a tear ; 

And, as her sickening colour fades, will sigh 

To the sweet wanton zephyr wandering by — 

" Hark to that poor lost maid, how sweet she sings ! 

To prove" — what would she prove 1 " That love has 

Carlos is gone, and quickly zephyr flies — [wings." 

The fond rose fades — and sad Elvira dies. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 283 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER. 



Clear and bright the moon was peeping 
From the fleecy clouds of snow ; 

Near a young crusader sleeping, 
ITius a voice was singing low : — 

" Perjured false one, who could' st leave me ! 

Leave thy helpless Moorish maid ; 
Swear and vow, but to deceive me, 

See the price by Neilah paid ! 

" See these features, palely gleaming 

As the moonlight o'er the sea ; 
These eyes, that late with love were beaming, 

Never more shall gaze on thee. 

" As dies the shoot that's roughly parted 

From its own, its parent tree. 
So thy Neilah, broken hearted. 

Dies, no more beloved by thee ! 

" Wounded, when the conflict's rattle 
Ceases, thou may'st seek repose. 

E'en upon the field of battle ; 
But my wounds will never close. 
20* 



234 -MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

" Yet thy Neilah still will love thee, 
Till friendly death shall end her woe ; 

While the sun shall shine above thee, 
Shadows still his light must throw." 

Starts the warrior, wildly raving. 

From the dream that breaks his sleep ; 

His loved one, with her locks loose waving 
O'er him seems to bend and weep. 

Repentant thoughts his mind revolving. 
He rushes towards the weeping fair ; 

Like a flake of snow dissolving. 
With sighs his Neilah melts in air. 

Madly fought he on the morrow, 
Rage and love alternate burn ; 

Quickly death relieves his sorrow, 
Faithless hearts may read and learn ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 235 



OH! COULD I COME WHEN FAYS HAVE POWER. 



Oh I could I come when fays have power, 

And Sleep o'er mortals holds her sway, 
There hi that silent moonlight hour, 

I'd steal thy fickle heart away ; 
I'd bear it far, where none might see, 

True constancy from mine to learn ; 
And still, while it remain'd with me, 

'Twould be a pledge for thy return. 

But, oh ! where shall I seek that heart 

Which thousands claim, but none may keep 1 
The gift which daylight sees depart. 

Is it resumed before thy sleep ] 
Shall I seek out each beauteous maid 

Who o'er thee held a transient sway ? 
In vain — where'er thy heart was laid. 

Her tears have wash'd the trace away. 

Then nmst I sit within my bower. 

Unwitting where the prize to find. 
And smile, as each successive hour 

Sees changing still thy wavering mind ; 
And still repeat the wish in vain. 

That thou wouldst live for me alone — 
Or that, to ease each maiden's pain. 

Thy cruel power to please were gone. 



236 MISCEtLANEOUS POEMS. 



LE RAN2 DES VACHES. 



QuAND reverrai-je en un jour 
Tous les objets de mon amour 1 

Nos clairs ruisseaux, 

Nos hameaux, 

Nos coteaux, 

Nos montagnes, 
Et rornement de nos montagnes, 
La si gentille Isabeau '? 
Dans I'ombre d'un ormeau, 
Quand danserai-je au son du chalumeau 1 



Quand reverrai-je en un jour 
Tous les objets de mon amour 1 

Mon pere, 

Ma mere, 

Mon frere, 

Ma soeur, 

Mes agneaux, 

Mes troupeaux, 

Ma bergere 1 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 237 



TRANSLATION. 



When will that day of sunshine dawn for me 
When I the objects of my love shall see 1 

Our purling rills, 
Our homes of ease, 

Our towering hills, 
Our leafy trees ; 
And her, the pride of hill or dell, 
My gentle blue-eyed Isabel ? 
Beneath the elm that shades the flowery plain, 
When shall I dance to shepherd's reed again ? 



When will that day of sunshine dawn for me 
When I the objects of my love shall see 1 

My father dear. 
And gentle mother, 

My sister fair. 

And thee, my brother 1 
My playful lambs, that know my voice. 
And at the well-kno\NTi sound rejoice ; 
My goats, that round me in wild gambols play'd, 
And thee, my life, my bride, my village maid 1 



238 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



LINDA ALHAYA. 



Slow rippling in the zephyr's breath, 

The murmuring waters flow beneath : 

Warm glows the sun — sweet breathes the air : 

Why are these scenes, though bright and fair, 

To me a dreary wilderness ? 

Linda Alhaya !* canst thou guess ? 

Why do I gaze on flowerets blue, 
Which rival heaven's own matchless hue, 
And wander by their native stream, 
Though it to other eyes may seem 
Unworthy of my constancy 1 
Linda Alhaya ! tell me why 1 

Why do I gaze on them, and smile, 
Then sit me down and weep awhile 1 
Sadly, but fond, as they recall'd 
Something which held my heart enthrall'd : 
Then slowly wend my weary way — 
Linda Alhaya ! canst thou say ? 

Linda Alhaya hears me not — 
Linda Alhaya has forgot 
That e'er her starry path I cross'd, 
Where every end but joy was lost. 

* Linda Alhaya — ^literally, a pretty jewel. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 239 

And hast thou lost all thought of me, 
Linda Alhaya ! can it be ? 

Not so have I thee^ sweet maid — 
Deep in my heart my love is laid ; 
Scentless and wither'd each flower to me — 
Leafless and scathed each towering tree : 
Oh, Linda Alhaya, canst thou not guess ? 
Thou wert my rose of the wilderness ! 

Linda Alhaya ! those flowerets blue 
Match not thine eye's soft liquid hue, 
But they the self-same language hold, 
Waving above those waters cold : 
And as we parted on this spot, 
They said, " Farewell, forget me not !" 

Those flowerets may bud, and bloom, and die. 

Above the brook that wanders by ; 

And while they live, their blossoms seem 

Reflected in its silver stream ; 

But when rude Time the buds shall sever, 

Their images are fled for ever. 

Oh ! thus shall it never be with me, 
While I have breath and memory ; 
The stream of life may swell its tide — 
Thy image still secure will bide ! 
My faithful heart in death shall tell, 
Linda Alhava, 1 loved thee well. 



240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



CHE DE VOS E DE ME DIRAN? 

FROM THE SPANISH. 



What will they say of me, my love, 

What will they say of you, 
When they see thine eyes' bright loving glance, 

And mine replying too 1 

Fear not, my love — they'll say of me^ 

That vainly earthly sufis may rise. 
When sunshine beams so radiantly 

From the blue heaven of those eyes. 
They'll say of thee^ that thou wert sent 

Here on this darkling earth to roam. 
To win, by beauty's blandishment, 

Weak mortals to thine angel home. 

But what, love, will they say of you, 

What will they say of me. 
When in my evening bower they find 

None save my harp and thee ? 

Fear not, my love, what tongues may dare-^ 

Of me the world can only say, 
That, while such twilight waits me there^ 

I need not wish for brighter day. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 241 

Of thee they'll say, the silver chords 

With which thy fairy harp is strung, 
Were breathed on by a spirit's words. 

And keep the notes that spirit sung. 

But oh ! what will they say of you — 

What ca/i they say of me, 
Should I at length become your bride, 

As I have vow'd to be 1 

Fear not, my love — they'll say that I 

Can never more have wish or prayer ; 
That having thee, until I die 

No thought is left that claims a care. 
Of thee they'll say — to speed the tale 

In vain was speech to mortals given ; 
For what may tongues and words avail. 

When hearts and looks are all our heaven ! 
21 



242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



VERDAD! VERDAD! 

FROM THE SPANISH. 



LuiDA ! I never thought, I own, 

When some proved false that so would you ; 
That e'en your heart would turn to st^one, 

And throw me off — not true ! not true ! 

'Twas all your fault — you kept away. 
With fairer, newer loves to range ; 

And I wept all the summer's day. 

To think a youth like you could change. 

True, true — I fled the enchanting lyre. 
The thrilling voice, the notes I knew, 

Because another dared aspire 

To win your heart — not true ! not true ! 

With eyes averted all the while. 
You stood in gloomy silence there ; 

The words which meant to win my smile. 
Unheard, were wandering on the air. 

True, true — I own I turn'd away. 
Because your eyes, on others bent, 

Seem'd fraught with many a lightning ray 
To blast the hopes your smile had lent. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 243 

Not true ! it is not true — my eyes 

Were fill'd with tears for your neglect ; 

If you think they are sunny skies, 
From others what can you expect 

True, true — you were a little moved, 

Nor smiled on those who came to woo — 

But none like me have ever loved ; 
Forgive, and say Uis true, 'tis true ! 



244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



THE ONE you LOVED THE BEST. 



Oh ! love — love well, but only once ! for never shall 

the dream 
Of youthful hope return again on life's fast rolling 

stream ; 
No love can match the early one which young affection 

nursed — 
Oh, no — the one you loved the best is she you loved the 

first. 

Once lost — that gladsome vision past — a fairer form 
may rise, 

And eyes whose lustre mocks the light of starry, south- 
ern skies ; 

But vainly seek you to enshrine the charmer in your 
breast, 

Tor still the one you loved the first is she you loved the 
best. 

Agam — 'tis gone — 'tis past away — those gentle tones and 
looks 

Have vanish'd like the feathery snow in summer's run- 
ning brooks ; 

With weary pinions wandering love forsakes the heart— 
his nest, 

And fain would rest again with her whom first you 
loved, and best. 



MISCELLANEOtJS POEMS. 245 

Perchance some faithful one is found, when love's 

romance is o'er, 
With her you safe through storms may glide, to reach 

life's farthest shore ; 
But all too cold and real now you deem your home of 

rest, 
And you sigh for her you loved the first — for her you 

loved the best, 
21* 



246 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



I WOULD THE WORLD WERE MINE. 



Oh ! I would the world were all mine own, 
With its gay green fields, and its rosy bowers, 
And its drooping trees, where I alone 
Might gather the buds that first were blown, 
And weave a thousand fairy bowers 

For thee — for thee! 

Oh ! I would the world were mine, with all 

Its changeful skies which the soft stars beam in ! 

No scorching rays of the sun should fall, 

But it should be to me, to all, 

A moonlight world for Love to dream in 

Of thee— of thee ! 

Oh ! I would the world were mine, for then 
I'd still the waves of the boundless ocean, 
And swiftly I'd fly from the haunts of men 
In some fairy bark which return'd again 
The dark blue water's rippling motion. 

With thee — with thee ! 

Oh ! would that the world indeed could be 
All, all my own — 'twould then be thine ! 
Thy heart were world enough for me. 
And, to gain it, I'd give the earth and sea — 
Oh ! worlds on worlds, if they were mine — 

To ihee — to thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 247 



ON T. B. S. 



He hath fallen asleep — that beautiful boy ! 

All the young and the gay of other days 
Have welcomed his spirit, with songs of joy, 

To their far home, lighted with starry rays ! 

He hath fallen asleep ! We shall hear no more 
That cheerful voice, with its musical tone ! 

The laugh, and the song, and the jest are o'er, 
And he lies in a stranger land, alone I 

He hath fallen asleep ! — those dark fringed lids 
Have closed o'er the glorious light of his eye ! 

It shall sparkle no more, till the trumpet bids 
The dead to arouse them, where they lie ! 

He hath fallen asleep ! — -that noble form 
Lies motionless now, in its cold dark bed — 

That young gay heart is food for the worm, 

And his rest is the dreamless sleep of the dead ! 

He hath fallen asleep ! — and between us is flowing 
The watery world of the boundless deep ; 

And the flowers of a foreign land are growing 
O'er the grave of him who hath fallen asleep ! 



248 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



WHILE I THINK OF YOU, LOVE! 



Wheit the sun is shining brightly on a blithesome 

summer's day, 
While others dance and sing, I think on him who's far 

away ; 
Amid the gay I wander on, as sad as sad can be— 
Oh ! while I think of you^ love, do you think of me ? 

When the evening shadows fall, love, and silence reigns 

around, 
And the weeping flowers shake the sparkling dew-drops 

on the ground ; 
When the pale moon shines so mournfully upon the 

land and lea — 
Oh ! while I think of yott, love, do you think of me? 

And when the night is come, love, and the weary sun 

is set, 
While others sleep, my constant eyes with tears the 

pillow wet J 
I rest in vain my aching head, where none my grief 

may see— 
Oh ! while I think of you^ love, do you think of me ? 

And when other suitors come, love, to tempt with smiles 

and gold. 
And tell me that thy heart for me is passionless and cold, 
I turn in scorn and grief away, and say it cannot be- 
When I ahoays think of you^ love, sure you sometimes 

think of me I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 249 



ON T. B. S. 



Blow, ye loud winds ! roll on, thou restless main ! 

For he we loved will never sail again ! 

Once, as the vessel left the fading shore. 

We listen'd to the billows' reckless roar. 

And shrank in terror as we raised our eyes, 

And pray'd for calmer seas and brighter skies. 

And gentler winds, to waft the young, the gay, 

Far from his native land, on stormy seas away ! — 

But now, no more we raise that useless prayer, 

Vain are the prosperous gales and favouring air — 

What reck we now that calm is every wave 1 

The sunbeams fall upon his distant grave ! 

What reck we that, calm rippling to the shore. 

They murmur round his bed, their sounds shall wake 

no more 1 — 
Blow, ye wild winds ! roll on, thou restless main ! 
For he we loved shall never sail again ! 
Roll, ye toss'd vessels ! on the stormy sea. 
No bark brings back the young, the gay, the free ! 
No more we watch each snowy, sunlit sail 
That swells impatient in the homeward gale ; 
No more we strain our orbs to that dark speck 
We fancied was the vessel, on whose deck 
The wanderer doom'd, alas ! again to roam. 
Stood gazing on that land, his ocean-circled home. 
His home! oh, say is that in English land 1 
Then wherefore lingers he on foreign strand ? 



250 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

His home ! oh ! far away on distant shore 

He lies, nor dreams of home or country more ! 

No more those bright eyes sparkle at the sound — 

" Haste ! for the bark is now for Britain bound." 

Hiat warm, light heart which bounded at each meeting, 

God gave the word, and it hath ceased its beating — 

Sail, ye toss'd vessels ; on the stormy sea, 

Bark after bark returns — in vain ! for where is he ? 



ISCELL ANKOUS POEMS. 251 



THE BIRTH-DAY. 



This is thy birth-day ! when we should be gay ; 

Shall we go out before the glowing noon, 
And weave the lingering flowers of parting May, 

With the first rosebuds of voluptuous June? 
Shall we congratulate the laughing earth 

That once again the perfumed spring is come — 
Her joyous child, who heralded thy birth, 

And made one long, glad summer of thy home ? 

This is thy birth-day ! thine, who wert so loved ! 

Who wert — my Gilderoy ! what art thou now 1 
Have the slight cares and sorrows thou hast proved 

Hollow'd thy cheek, or darken'd o'er thy brow 1 
Fond hearts are beating in thy quiet home : 

Awake, thou sleeper ! 'tis a day of joy ; 
Where all is gladness, surely thou wilt come — 

Why art thou silent still, my Gilderoy ? 

This is thy birth-day ! thine, who wert so young, 

So full of life, so graceful, and so gay ; 
Why is the bitter tear of anguish wrung 

From eyes which were not wont to weep to-day 1 
Smile on us now, as in the days of yore. 

When friends stood round to hail another year — 
Alas ! the lip we loved shall smile no more ! 

This is thy birth-day — but thou art not here ! 



253 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE DARKNESS OF THE GRAVE. 



The darkness of the grave hath bound him, 
A shroud, for a cloak, is cast around him — 
Night and day o'er his tomb I weep. 
But he hears me not, for he lies asleep ! 
" Come back to love and life, my love ! 
Come back and chase my woe, 
For the sun is shining bright above, 
And the flowers are fair below." 

To the lone and cheerless tomb thej^ bore him. 
And the chill cold earth they scatter'd o'er him ; 
That heavy mould, as it heap'd his bed, 
Fell on my heart like a weight of lead ; 
And I sung, " Come back to life, my love ! 
Come back and chase my woe, 
!For the sun is shining bright above, 
And the flowers are fair below !" 

Light cannot pierce the earth above him. 
The gentle light of eyes that love him — 
The sun cannot warm with its rays of gold. 
He hath come to his end like a tale that is told ; 
" Come back ! in vain — those darken'd eyes 
This world no more shall see — 
No more for thee shall beam yon skies. 
Nor flowers be cuU'd for thee !" 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 253 



FAREWELL. 



" Farewell, my best beloved — farewell !" 

Such were" the sounds that came 
(Utter'd with smiles), the last which fell 

From lips that loved thy name ; 
And Heaven bless thee, wheresoe'er 

Those joyous footsteps roam. 
And guide, without a sigh or tear, 

My wanderer back to home ! 

Farewell, my best beloved ! 'tis past, 

Yet little did I deem 
That gay adieu should be the last 

Recall'd in memory's dream. 
I could have'%vish'd — the wish is vain — 

More sad had been the hour. 
Which beams through every thought of pain 

With agonizing power. 

For still through tears that dim my view, 

Through sobs that choke my breath, 
That vision, with its bright adieu, 

Forbids the thought of death ! 
Farewell, I did not see thee die, 

I did not hear thy knell ; 
Does sorrow, therefore, lighter fly 1 

My best beloved — farewell ! 
22 



254 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THY WILL BE DONE. 



Thy will be done ! how hard a thing to say- 
When sickness ushers in death's dreary knell ; 
When eyes that sparkled bright and gay, 
Wander around with dimly conscious ray, 
To some familiar face, to bid -farewell ! 

Thy will be done ! — the faltering lips deny 
A passage to the tones as yet unheard ; 
The sob convulsed, the raised and swimming eye, 
Seem as appealing to their God on high 

For power to breathe the yet imperfect word. 

Orphan ! who watchest by the silent tomb 

Where those who gave thee life all coldly sleep ; 
Or thou, who sittest in thy desolate home. 
Calling to those beloved who cannot come. 
And thinking o'er thy loneliness, dost weep ! 

Widow ! who musest over by-gone years 

Of life, and love, and happiness with him 
Who shared thy joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, 
Who now art left to shed unnoticed tears. 

Till thy fair cheek is wan, and eyes grow dim ! 

Husband ! who dreamest of thy gentle wife. 
And still in fancy see'st her rosy smile 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 255 

Brightening a world of bitterness and strife ; 
Who from the lonely future of thy life 
Turnest, in dreariness, to weep the while ! 

Mother ! whose prayers could not avail to save 

Him whom thou lovedst most, thy blue-eyed boy ! 
Who with a bitter agony dost rave 
To the wild winds that fan his early grave. 
And dashedst from thy lips the cup of joy ! 

And thou ! not widow'd, yet bereaved one. 

Who, buried in thy tearless, mute despair, 
Roamest a desert world alone — alone — 
To seek him out who from thine eyes is gone, 
Scarce able to believe he is not there ! 

Mourners ! who linger in a world of woe. 

Each bowing 'neath his separate load of grief, 
Turn from the silent tomb, and, kneeling low 
Before that throne at which the angels bow, 
Invoke a God of mercy for relief! 

Pray that ye too may journey, when ye die, 

To that far world where blessed souls are gone ; 
And, through the gathering sob of agony, 
Raise, with a voice resign'd, the humble cry, 
" Father — Creator — Lord ! thy will be done !" 



256 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MUSIC'S POWER. 



Have you never heard, in music's sound, 

Some chords which o'er your heart 
First fling a moment's magic round, 

Then silently depart ? 
But with the echo on the air, 
Roused by that simple lay. 
It leaves a world of feeling there 
We cannot chase away. 
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come — 
Youth's half-forgotten hopes, childhood's remember'd 
home. 

When, sitting in your silent home, 

You gaze around and weep, 
Or call to those who cannot come, 

Nor wake from dreamless sleep ; 
Those chords, as oft as you bemoan 

" The distant and the dead," 
Bring dimly back the fancied tone 
Of some sweet voice that's fled ! 
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come — 
Youth's half-forgotten hopes, childhood's remember'd 
home. 

And when, amid the festal throng. 

You are, or would be gay — 
And seek to wile, with dance and song, 

Your sadder thoughts away ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 257 

They strike those chords, and smiles depart, 

As, rushing o'er your soul, 
The untold feelings of the heart 
Awake, and spurn control ! 
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come — 
Youth's half-forgotten hopes, childhood's remember'd 
home. 



SAY NOT 'TIS DARK. 



Say not 'tis dark ! — the night 

Is never dark to me ; 
Around my couch they come in light — 

Visions I would not see. 

Forms I have loved, — as bright 

As in life's joyous years ; 
Say not 'tis dark ! — the murkiest night 

Hath light enough for tears ! 

22* 



258 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



BUT THOU? 



Delia f some few short years ago 
Yon fountain heard thee breathe a vow — ■ 

Still sparkling in the sunny glow, 
With murmuring sound and constant flow, 

That fount plays On— but thou I 



Delia \ ringlet bright ana rare. 
Which wanton'd o'er thy snowy brow, 

In hours of bliss was given there ; 
Time has not changed a single hair, 

'Tis still the same— but thou! 



Delia f the heart that fondly loved. 
Loves thee despite thy folly now ;• 

Though thou hast seen its pangs unmoved, 
In sadness tried^^in sorrow proved — 

'Tis faithful yet— but thof J 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 259 



1 DO NOT LOVE THEE 



I DO not love thee ! no, I do not love thee ! 
And yet when thou art absent I am sad ; 

And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, 
Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad. 

I do not love thee ! — yet, I know not why, 
Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me— 

And often in my solitude I sigh- 
That those I do love are not more like thee ! 

I do not love thee ! — -yet, when thou art gone, 
I hate the sound (though those who speak be dear) 

Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone 
Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear. 

I do not love thee ! — ^yet thy speaking eyes, 
With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue- 
Between me and the midnight heaven arise, 

Oftener than any eyes I ever knew. 

■» 

I knotv I do not love thee ! — -yet, alas ! 
Others will scarcely trust my candid heart. 

And oft I catch them smiling as they pass, 
Because they see me gazing where thou art. 



260 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



LILLA VANNEN. 



[Yomnen, in Norwegian, ?,\gm&.Q?, friend; and IMla, little or lowly. The 
expression, lAlla Vanneti, would answer to the term in our language of 
Himible FHend.'\ 



1 "WAS ill, and thought of thee, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
My soul dwelt mournfully, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
On the well-remeniber'd times, 
When we heard the village chimes 
Thro' the avenue of limes, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

In my sickness and great pain, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
The old light shone again, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
The child-like faith in God 
When we two together trod 
O'er the daisy-spangled sod, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

The lowly church stood there, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
And I saw thee kneel in prayer, 

Lilla Vannen ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

While a glory and a grace 
Shone in lieu of beauty's trace, 
On thy pale and homely face ; 
Lilla Vannen ! 

In thy pure and quiet eye, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
Dwelt a light that could not die, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
No sparkle of vain joy 
Which an hour could fade or cloy, 
But glad hope without alloy, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

To a worldly path I stray'd, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
Thou didst keep the tranquil shade, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
Thou didst keep thy simple faith. 
Girded firm for life or death, 
With calm pulse and even breath, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

Thou hadst courage then to blame, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
(Tho' thy soft words gently came,) 

Lilla Vannen ! 
And to say the world's success 
With no aim that God could bless 
Was a life of bitterness, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

Thy gentle words came true, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
All was alter'd to my view, 

Lilla Vannen ! 



201 



262 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I was vain, and sought to charm, 
Yet I wish'd no mortal harm, 
And my love was deep and warm, 
Lilla Vannen ! 

But the dark days came at last, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
They were hitter — they are past, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
And I rose against the blow. 
But my heart is broken now, 
Very dreary is my wo, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

Would I had thee here to-day, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
By my side to kneel and pray, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
But thy funeral bell hath toU'd, 
And thou liest still and cold, 
'Neath the churchyard's heavy mould, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

I mourn'd thee not aright, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
I was dazzled by false light, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
A few impassion'd tears 
Mark'd the love of many years, 
All that memory endears, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

Now my life is ebbing fast, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
And my pulse beats slow, at last, 

Lilla Vannen ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 263 

And my past career doth seem 
Like a wild and drunken dream, 
All its joy a lurid gleam, 
Lilla Vannen ! 

But I dare not pray alone, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
I can only weep and moan, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
I need thy voice to cheer 
The deep fainting of my fear. 
And to tell me God will hear 

Lilla Vannen ! 

In the evening of each day, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
When the hot light dies away, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
And the soft dew comes to rest 
On the green earth's quiet breast, 
Like a thing which God hath blest, 

Lilla Vannen ! 

From my casement, lone and still, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
I look out on plain and hill, 

Lilla Vannen ! 
And I watch the evening star 
Shining bright from worlds afar. 
Where thou art, and angels are, 

Lilla Vannen ! 



264 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE FAIRY BELLS. 



I DREAMT — 'twas but a dream — thou wert my bride, 

love; 
I dreamt that we were wandering side by side, love — 
I Earth's happiest son, and thou her loveliest daughter, 
While fairy bells came tinkling o'er the water : 

Merrily, merrily, merrily they fell, 

The echoes of that fairy bell ! 



That vision pass'd away, and thou hast left me 

To mourn the hopes thy falsehood hath bereft me. 

No more I claim thy promised hand — 

No more in dream I see thee stand — 

While soft, sweet, and low it fell, 
The echo of that fairy bell ! 



Now, when I'm musing sad and lonely. 

With but my harp and thy remembrance only, 

In vain, as on its chords I bend. 

One joyful note I seek to send — 

For sad, sad, and changed they seem, 
The fairy bells of that dear dream ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 265 



LOVE NOT ! 



Love not, love not ! ye hapless sons of clay ! 

Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers- 
Things that are made to fade and fall away 

Ere they have blossom'd for a few short hours. 

Love not ! 



Love not ! the thing ye love may change — 
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you — ' 

The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange — 
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. 

Love not ! 



Love not ! the thing you love may die — 

May perish from the gay and gladsome earth ; 

The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky, 
Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth. 

Love not ! 



Love not ! oh, warning vainly said 

In present hours as in years gone by ; 
Love flings a halo round the dear one's head, 
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. 

Love on ! 
23 



266 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



OH, LOVE ME! LOVE ME STILL I 



Oh, love me ! love me still ! 

Though thou art doom'd to leave me ; 
Whilst thou art blest, no ill 

Of frowning fate can grieve me. 

Then love me ! love me still ! 



What, though the cold world smile, 

Its scorn can never move thee ; 
Then turn thee yet awhile, 

Till I can cease to love thee ! 

And love me ! love me still ! 



And as the crush'd flower sends 

Its soul of perfumed breathing, 
To him whose footstep bends 

The blossoms 'neath its wreathing. 

And, dying, haunts him still ; 

So my crush'd heart to thee 

Will send love's last faint sighing ; 

Thy dreams of her shall be 
Whom thou art vainly flying ! 

Who loves thee, loves thee still ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 267 



OH! THERE'S NOTHING WORTH LOVING! 



Oh ! there's nothing worth loving when thou art gone ! 
There's nothing worth loving when thou art gone ! 
Had I all the treasures the wide world could buy, 
I'd part with them all for one glance of thine eye. 
I care not for riches, I ask not for gold — 
The heart gives itself, though the hand may be sold : 
Let others rejoice in their pomp and their show, 
So 'tis mine to be with thee, wherever we go. 
For there's nothing, &c. 

1 care not for dwelling in sunny bright lands, 
Where blue waters are rolling o'er sparkling sands ; 
Tho' they dance in their channels, so clear and cold, 
Like oceans of diamonds, or dust of gold : 
No, bear me afar, to some distant shore, 
So thou art with me, I ask no more ; 
Dark, gloomy, and sad, though that land may be — 
Oh ! the light of thy smile is enough for me ! 
For there's nothing, &c. 

Let others be loving in myrtle bowers. 
Where zephyr is fanning the glowing flowers — 
Oh ! gloomier far were those shades to me 
Than Africa's deserts, if shared with thee — 
Then wilt thou send roving my heart in pain, 
When I ask of thee but to love again ? — 
No, list, ere the soul of love be fled ; 
Ere the lute be hush'd, and its o^vner dead ! 
For there's nothing, &c. 



268 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



OH ! DEEM NOT THOU. 



Oh ! deem not thou, because I smile 

On others who around thee rove, 
That I forget that weary while 

The dream of thee — the dream of love. 
Oh, no ! — the eye whose vision's bound 

Is far beyond what others see, 
May glitter^ as it glances round — 

It only beams — when fix'd on thee ! 



The clouds which o'er yon heaven sail, 

May make its blue appear less bright ; 
But far beneath their jealous veil, 

Th' eternal stars still keep their light : 
And thus^ whatever feeling seems 

The spirit of the cloud to be — 
Deep in my inmost heart there beams 

A star of love — the love of thee ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 269 



THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. 



Where shall I wander, and whither shall I go, 

Since o'er my pretty sailor-boy the cruel waters flow? 

Who shall I seek, to be like my dearest child, 

To speak with that sweet voice, that choked among the 

waters wild ? 
I'll wander through the streamlet, I'll wander o'er the 

land, 
I'll wander till I reach again the glittering sand : 
I'll call to my dear sailor-boy, across the dreary sea — 
'Twas there I parted from him ; will he come again to 

me? 

I'll listen to the miirmuring waves, that break along the 

shore, 
And think it is his bounding step, who can return no 

more ; 
I'll watch the cloud's dark shadow, that steals along the 

sea. 
And dream it is his graceful form that steals across to 

me. 
I'll watch the splendid light, that breaks so softly o'er 

his grave ; 
His eyes were blue and sunny bright, who sleeps beneath 

the wave : 
I'll think it is his glance that comes, so smiling o'er the 

sea ; 
His glance ! his voice ! his step ! alas ! will he return to 

me? 

23* 



270 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE CAPTIVE. 



In my dungeon I sat weeping, 

Till I sank to brief repose— 
And forgot, while I was sleeping, 

That I slept among my foes ! 
For sweet music round came floating, 

Music of my native land, 
For whose dear sake my life devoting, 

I had sought a foreign strand. 

Kavish'd, I enraptured listened 

To the well'remember'd lay- 
In mine eye soft tear-drops glisten'd, 

Which I would not wipe away : 
In mine ear were voices ringing — - 

Tones whose magic now has past ; 
Rosy lips around me singing. 

Which have breathed and sung their last ! 

Oh, 'twas sweet ! but soon awaking, 

I could hear no sound at all- 
Save the mournful billow breaking 

Hoarsely o'er my dungeon wall. 
Back the cruel winds had .driven 

What had been so dear to me ; 
I caught it, like a harp from heaven, 

Fading o'er the dreary sea ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 271 



I'LL WEEP FOR THEE EVER. 



Tll weep for thee ever ! when the sun is shining bright, 
And when the lonely stars are out, upon the dark blue 

night ; 
When the moon is sadly shining upon the heaving sea, 
Oh, then, my loved and lost one, I'll weep and think of 

thee. 

I'll weep for thee ever ! 

I'll weep for thee ever ! although they chide my tears, 
I cannot but be mournful, when I think of by-gone 

years ; 
And when I meet thine early friends, still sad those 

hours may be. 
They shall not say, my lost one, I had no thought of 

thee ! 

I'll weep for thee ever ! 

I'll weep for thee ever ! though all be bright around. 
When I listen to the merry dance, and list to music's 

sound ; 
They little think who fondly watch, my careless smile 

to see, 
What bitter thoughts, my lost one, are hid beneath, of 

thee. 

I'll weep for thee ever ! 



272 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I'll weep for thee ever ! through many a future day, 
There are on earth remember'd griefs, time cannot chase 

away ; 
When tears have ceased to dim my eyes, my lonely life 

shall be, 
One thought of my loved and lost one, the mournful 

thought of thee. 

I'll weep for thee ever ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 273 



I HAVE LEFT MY QUIET HOME! 



gipsy's song. 



I HAVE left my quiet home, 
With thee through the world to roam- 
Every hope is gone but thou, 
Wherefore frown upon me now ? 
Far away my mother keeps 

Vigil in her lonely cot, 
And, gazing from the lattice, weeps 

To think upon my wandering lot. 

I have left my native hills 
With their silvery gushing rills ; 
I have left my sunny land 
On a foreign soil to stand : 
Dark, alas ! this stranger sky, — 

That I left behind was bright ; 
Once thy smile could chase each sigh, 

Wherefore hath it lost its light 1 

Tell me not I am to blame. 
That I am no more the same ; 
Changed in form I well may be, 
But I never changed to thee/ 
True, my cheek is fading fast. 

Worn with many a sense of ill ; 
And my rosy bloom is past — 

But my heart is faithful still ! 



274 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

I have left my quiet home, 

With thee through the world to roam ; 

Every hope is lost but thou, 

Do not frown upon me now ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 275 



TO STAND UPON A SUNNY SPOT. 



To stand upon a sunny spot, 

While life's young hours are bright ; 
And gaze where clouds and mists are not, 

On some rich scene of light — 
With some dear soul, whose gentle voice 

Seems timed to please your ear ; 
To say how deeply you rejoice 

In all the beauties near ; — 
Oh, this is joy, and" while we live 
Life hath no summer hour to give ! 



To be, when life's romance is o'er, 

In that remember'd scene ; 
When those who gazed with us before, 

Are, as they had not been ! — 
To stand upon that sunny ground. 

Beneath the self-same skies. 
And hear the lingering echo round 

Kepeat your lonely sighs ; — 
Oh, tears are vain in such an hour. 
Grief in that stroke exhausts its power ! 



276 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO-MORROW. 



Bright smiling eyes ! 
Where sunshine lies, 

Undimm'd by crime or sorrow, 
Beam while you may, 
And still be gay, 

For ye shall weep — ^to morrow ! 

Young lips ! where the 
Mistaken bee 

The rose's juice would borrow, 
Harsh fate hath made 
Your bloom to fade — 

Ye may not smile — to-morrow ! 

Voices ! whose tone 
Have made your own 

Hearts, which have known no sorrow, 
Breathe, breathe the vow. 
The ear that now 

Lists, will be deaf — to-morrow ! 

Fond hearts ! which beat 
The loved to meet, 

Joy from the present borrow ; 
That idol form 
Must feed the worm, 

And fill the grave — to morrow ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 277 



AS LONE I SIT. 



As lone I sit, to dream upon 

The hopes of other days, 
I weeping hail the cheerful sun, 

Or Dian's mournful rays : 
My yearning fancy still returns, 

For joys long lost to pine ; 
My broken heart in sadness mourns 

The treachery of thine ! 



I heard thy light laugh's silver sound. 

As when / laugh'd with thee ; 
And try to smile on all around, 

As careless, and as free. 
Alas ! like flowers whose rosy leaves 

Are o'er a tombstone shed, 
The hollow smile in vain deceives — 

The heart — the heart is dead ! 
24 



278 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



I WON'T REPEAT. 



One morning, at an early hour, 

I met fair Phillis in a bower ; 

She sigh'd, and hlush'd, and hung her head, 

While thus to her I softly said : 

" Why, Phillis ! what can ail you, dear ? 

You blush, and sigh, and no one near ; — 

You love ! you love ! confess 'tis true : 

I won't renea^ • so tell me — do /" 

Then Phillis spoke, as with a smile — 
I stood and watch'd her all the while — 
" Young Colin seeks my heart to move, 
And oh, my friend ! I fear to love !" 
To Colin then I told the tale. 
And Colin turn'd from red to pale : 
" Why, Colin, what is come to you ? 
I won't repeat : so tell me — do /" 

The shepherd told me all his pain ;— ^ 

I ran and told it all again : 

But Phillis gave herself such airs 

It fills poor Colin's breast with cares ; 

And I can hardly tell, I'm sure, 

If she will grant at last a cure. — 

I've told you all, and what think you ? 

I won't repeat : so tell me — do ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 279 



OH ! SAD IS THE HEART. 



Oh ! sad, sad is the heart that keeps 

A lonely vigil through the night ; 
And dim, dim is the eye that weeps. 

While others close till morning light. 
Dark was thy brow that parting day, 

And in thy very smile was pain ; 
And loath wert thou to go away. 

Though then we thought to meet again. 



Oft have I thought thou wouldst not come 

To cheer thy sad and faithful maid ; 
Oft have I mourn'd my lonely home, 

But deem'd not thou wert lowly laid, 
f Oh ! long, long may I weep and sigh. 

Through many a dark and dreary day, 
Ere he returns to greet my eye. 

Who was so loath to go away ! ^ 



280 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



CORIOLANUS. 



All, the soldier's heart withstood, 
With a hero's dauntless mood, 
Till that one voice smote his ear, 
(Choked with agony and fear,) 
Which from childhood's hour had proved 
Most revered and best beloved ! 
Deem it rather praise, than blame, 
If that man of mighty fame 
Yielded to the suppliant tongue 
Which his cradle-hymn had sung. 
Leaving, link'd with all his glory, 
That most sweet and touching story, 
How the warrior's heart could melt, 
When the son so deeply felt ! 



Proud one ! ruler of the earth ! 
Scorn not her who gave thee birth ! 
Scorn her not : although the day 
Long hath waned and past away, 
When her patient lullaby 
Hush'd thy peevish wailing cry ; 
When the rocking on her breast 
LuU'd thee to thy helpless rest ; 
When, if danger threaten'd near. 
Thou didst fly, in guileless fear, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 281 

Doubting not the safety tried 

By her loved familiar side, 

Doubtincr not her circlinc; arm 

Could protect from every harm. 

Time's swift river rolls along — 

She is weak, and thou art strong ! 

From her fliir face day by day 

Lingering beauty fades away, 

And her step is lifted slow, 

And her tresses streak'd with snow ; 

Her little stock of worldly lore 

Thou hast outstripp'd, and knowest more ; 

She who led thine earlier age 

To dwell upon the pictured page. 

Bends with strain'd attention now. 

With perplex'd and anxious brow. 

While of politics and wars, 

Of the course of moon and stars. 

Of discoverers by which 

Science shall the world enrich, 

(Things beyond her scant dominion,) 

Thou dost give thy grave opinion. 

If, while thou dost wisely speak, 

She seem ignorant and weak. 

Let this thought thy bosom stir — 

She is what thou wert to her ; 

Guard her, keep her from all pain. 

As she sought to guard thee then ! 



Now return the patient care. 
When her curls of glossy hair 
Bending down with mother's love 
Shadow'd thy young brow above ! 
24* 



282 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Now return the watches kept 
When thy cradled chidhood slept, 
And her smooth and glowing cheek 
(Rosy as the apple streak) 
Scarcely show'd a tinge less bright 
In the morning's coming light, 
So full she was of youthful strength, 
So brief appear'd the wan night's length, 
When iiill of love, and hope, and joy, 
She rock'd to rest her slumbering boy ! 



And if (for it may well be so, 
Since nothing perfect dwells below) 
Thy understanding, grown mature, 
Perceives defect which must endure, 
Now return indulgence given, 
(Meek and merciful as heaven,) 
When thy faults her patience tried, 
Dullness, stubbornness, or pride. 
Oh ! that loving heart was human — 
Not a goddess, but a woman, 
Watch'd thy course of weaker years, 
Guarding them through smiles and tears : 
Thou, with all thy strength and lore. 
Art the child she nursed before, — 
Also, an imperfect creature. 
Faulty by thy very nature : 
If a hard or peevish word 
From her lips thou now hast heard, 
Bear it — she hath borne with thee 
When thou hadst not sense to see 
Her endurance well might prove 
Patience hath its root in Love, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 283 

Love her, therefore ! shame not thou, 

Like the hero, to avow 

That thy mother's voice hath power 

In thy fate's decisive hour. 

All the love that thou canst give, 

All the days ye both shall live, 

Warm although the pulse it stirs, 

Trust me, will fall short of hers. 



284 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS< 



I HAVE A ROSE. 



I HAVE a rose — a faded rose- 
Dearer than many a fairer flower ; 
It will not bend when zephyr blows, 
It will not freshen in the shower : 

Where is the giver 1 
WTiere ! 

I have a sunny lock of hair — 

Bright was the brow o'er Avhich it waved — • 
Unchanged by time, undimm'd by care — 
A thing which love from sorrow saved : 

Where is the owner ? 
Where ! 

I have a heart— a lonely heart — ■ 

O'er which at evening stealing come 
Sweet tones, which now might well depart, 
Breathing of happiness and home : 

Where is the speaker ? 
Where ! 

I have a future— lonely now— 

Days which to me are dark as night — 
A sadden'd soul — -a gloomy brow : 

Oh, thou ! who mad'st that future bright, 

Where art thou vanish'd 1 
WTiere ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 285 



WITH SNOWY SAIL. 



With snowy sail, before the gale, 
The faithless vessel left the shore ; 
Nor signal gave — the parting brave — 
They parted then^ to meet no more. 
How could they think, who stood to drink, 
Safe voyage to that eager crew, 
That gallant deck would be a wreck, 
To which would cling a dying few. 
With snowy sail, &c. 

No bursting sigh, no tearful eye, 
Went with that proud ship o'er her track : 
The breeze was light, the sun was bright, 
The cheer on shore was answer'd back ; 
When those who sank, the salt foam drank, 
Their dying eyes look'd o'er the wave ; 
Where watching stand, an eager band. 
To those who struggling find a grave ! 



So faithless prove the barks of love — 
And hope, which leave life's flowery shore. 
Nor signals give, that while we live 
The bark of hope returns no more ! 



286 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



FAREWELL TO THEE, THOU SUNNY ISLE I 



Farewell to thee, thou sunny isle ! 

The waves around our bark are dancmg ; 
Our snowy sail, unfurl'd the while. 

In the noonday beam is brightly glancing. 
Yet ere we sail 
Once more we hail 
The land where first the sun shone o'er us ; 
Where'er we rove, 
With looks of love 
We'll turn to thee — the land that bore us ! 

Farewell to thee, who from our eyes 

Are shrouded by the tears that blind us ; 
Each passing breeze shall waft our sighs. 
To those we love, and leave behind us ! 
Yet though we roam 
Far, far from home — 
Whatever storms may hover o'er us, 
Where'er we rove, 
With thoughts of love 
We turn to thee — the land that bore us ! 

Our home ! oh, still that magic name 
Shall breathe a holy spell around us— 

And make us, e'en mid shouts of fame, 
Sigh for the early links that bound us ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 287 

The flowery ties, 

The young bright eyes, 
That still in dreams seem watching o'er us ; 

Oh ! while we rove. 

The forms we love 
Still people thee — the laud that bore us ! 

The storms may rise, the winds may roar. 
Triumphant still we sail through danger. 
So we behold the land once more 

That welcomes back the weary stranger. 
The port we hail. 
Furl up our sail. 
While those we love stand mute before us ; 
No more we rove. 
With joyful love 
We leap on thee — the land that bore us ! 



288 MI8CBLLANE0US POEMS. 



WHEN FIRST I LOVED THEE. 



When first I loved thee 

There was a sunny gladness in my home, 
When time had proved thee, 

Hope fled — and darkness shed a cheerless gloom ! 
Young and light-hearted, 

I made thee then an idol to adore ! 
When hope departed, 

I said, " Farewell ! I'll think on thee no more !" 

Oh, they were weary hours. 

When first I tried what I had been, to be — 
I brought my birds, my flowers, 

Alas ! they put me all in mind of thee ! 
Each thing reminds me 

Which now I love, of what I loved before — 
Fond memory binds me 

To think on thee — or else to think no more t 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 289 



MY OWN LAND. 



Though each beam hope hung o'er thee be shaded, 

My own dear unfortunate land 
Though fallen, and sunk, and degraded, 

Thy sons leave thy desolate strand ; 
My heart — oh, no other shall share it, 

Happy and fair though that other may be — 
From my weary-worn breast they may tear it, 

But its beatuigs shall still be for thee ! 



Even I, even I, must wander — 

But as the ship bears one away, 
I turn, as my sad heart grows fonder. 

To the west where thou liest and say : 
" Land of the brave and true-hearted ! 

They may fetter our limbs^ but our spirits are free ; 
And how can they say we are parted, 

When my soul, when my soul — is with thee ?" 
25 



290 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



OUR EARLY LOVE. 



Our early love ! our early love ! 

Oh ! what, in all these scenes of strife, 
Glomes with a soothing power above 

Those magic words of light and life ? 
What in our young hope's early spring, 

Brightens anew the brightest scene — * 
What, when those hopes have taken wing, 

Smiles on the wrecks of what hath been 1 
The thought of our early love ! 

When those once dear, but led astray, 

By tempting hours or anguish'd pain, 
Have wander' d from the peaceful way, 

And sighing, would return again : 
When weeping, wearily, they come — 

What makes us pardon all the past. 
And welcome to their hallow'd home 

The wanderer, from our bosom cast ? 
The thought of our early love ! 

What to the harden'd bosom brings 

The suffocating sense of tears 1 
Sweet dew which to an eyelid springs 

That hath not known its balm for years. 
A breeze blown through our native trees — 

The sunlight on a well-known spot — 
The murmuring of some gentle breeze 

For what hath been and now is not — 
The peace of our early love ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 291 



HARSH SCORN. 



Harsh scorn hatn hail'd thy blighted name, 

Thou frail but lovely thing ; 
And the slight precious flower of Fame 

Is slowly withering ! 
When lightly, 'mid the proud and gay, 

Of thee and thine they speak — 
I hear — I hear — and turn away, 

To hide my fever'd cheek : 
Those who have the power to crush thee have the will, 
And yet, it matters not — I love thee still ! 

When o'er thy pale and gentle form, 

In fitful slumber laid — 
I bend, and curse the canker-worm 

Which such a flower betray'd : 
I think how far more fair thou art 

Than all who scorn thy doom, 
And wish my proud and swelling heart 
Were withering in the tomb ! 
The joyous spring is dark — the summer chill — 
And yet, it matters not — I love thee still ! 

When back to mine, those timid eyes 

In mournful fondness turn. 
For those pure days my bosom sighs 

Which never can return : 



292 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

That I might die before a breath 

Of slander hurt thy name ; 
Nor live to feel the double death 
Of torture and of shame ! 
Oh ! had I thought, how deep a power to kill — 
And yet, it matters not — ^I l(yve thee still I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 293 



THOU ART GONE LIKE A SHADOW. 



Thou art gone like a shadow, on some sweet fountain, 
Thrown by a light cloud upon a summer's day ; 

When the red sun sinks behind the lofty mountain 
We look for it again, but 'tis vanish'd away. 

Thou art gone like a ripple on the dark blue river. 
Where floats a flower by a young hand thrown ; 

The deep blue water will flow on for ever, 

When the flower and the hand that flung it there are 
gone. 



Thou art gone like some faint strain of music, stealing 

O'er the lonely heart in a distant day ; 
Some stray chord wakes a half-remember'd feeling. 

When the singers and the strain have pass'd away ! 
25* 



294 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



IN CHILDHOOD'S BRIGHT HOURS. 



In childliood's bright hours 

"We wish for long years, 
Nor think that hope's flowers 

May be water'd with tears j 
In the brightness of beauty 

Our fate appears cast — • 
We dream of the fixture, 

And smile on the past ! 

Youth's transient pleasures 

A few words may tell — - 
The fond word of welcome^ 

The bitter farewell ; 
The sigh and the smile, 

Which we tremble to miss— ^ 
While we sigh for the future, 

And deem 'twill bring bliss I 

Sad and benighted 

In age's dim day, 
Hope^s beacon, scarce lighted, 

Shines dim on our way. 
Though the past be of sorrow, 

The future of tears — 
Yet lingering, clinging. 

We sigh for more years I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 295 



I WOULD I WERE THE SLIGHT FERN GROWING. 



" Que ne suis je la fougeie ?" — Old French Ballad, 



I WOULD I were the slight fern, growing 

Beneath my highland Mary's tread ; 
I would I were the green tree, throwing 

A shadow o'er her gentle head. 
I would I were a wild flower, springing 

Where my sweet Mary loves to rest ; 
That she might pluck me while she's singing, 

And place me on her snowy breast. 

I would I were in yonder heaven 

A silver star, whose soft dim light 
Would rise to bless each summer even', 

And watch my Mary all the night. 
I would, beneath those small white fingers, 

I were the lute her breath has fann'd — 
The gentle lute, whose soft note lingers, 

As loath to leave her fairy hand. 

Ah, happy things ! ye may not wander 

From Scotland to some darker sky. 
But ever live, unchanging, yonder— 

To happiness and Mary nigh ! 
While I at midnight, sadly weeping, 

Upon its deep transparent blue 
Can only gaze, while all are sleeping, 

And dream my Mary wat<ihes too. 



296 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



OH, ERIN ! SWEET ERIN ! 

TO THE AIR NO. 6, IN THE " LEGENDS OF THE LAKES," 
BY T. CROFTON CROKER. 



Oh, Erin ! sweet Eriii ! thy strains 

To the heart-broken exile are dear ; 
And each note in its sweetness remains 

Long, long on the listening ear. 
But even when those sounds should be gay, 

Such sorrow is mix'd with their tone, 
And each note melts so slowly away 

That our hearts feel their sadness alone. 

Oh, 'tis thus when life's sunshine is o'er. 

And its visions in darkness are hid, 
When the friends of our youth are no more, 

And our hearts do not beat as they did,— 
A sound will bring back thoughts that pass, 

Like a shadow, on all that is glad ; 
We may laugh if we will, but, alas ! 

E'en the sound of our laughter is sad. 

* By T. Crofton Ckoser. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 297 



f THEY BID ME RAISE MY HEAVY EYES. 

V J 



They bid me raise my heavy eyes, 

Nor mournful still in tears complain — 

They bid me cease these broken sighs, 
And with the happy smile again ; 

They say that many a form of light 
Is gliding round me while I pine. 

But still I weep — though fair and bright — 

It is not thine I 

They tell me there are eyes, whose rays 
Of sunny light should bring relief ; 

Whose looks of love, and earnest gaze. 
Should win me from my dream of grief — 

But mournfully I turn to greet 

Each kindly eye that answers mine : 

Alas ! though fond the glance I meet — 

It is not thine ! 

When some young voice hath won my ear. 
With notes that might have been thine own. 

So gay, so light, so silvery clear. 
They linger with me when alone : 

Till some strange tone the vision breaks, 
My heart to gladness will incline ; 

But, oh! how sadly then it wakes — 

» It in not thine ! 



298 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



LONG AGO. 



Long ago, oh ! long ago ! 

Do not those words recall past years ; 
And, scarcely knowing why they flow. 

Force to the eyes unbidden tears ? 
Do ye not feel as back they come, 

Those dim sweet dreams of olden days, 
A yearning to yom' childhood's home, 

Peopled with tones of love and praise, 
Long, long ago ? 



Long ago ! when many a sound 

Awoke to mirth which saddens now ; 
And many an eye was sparkling round, 

That weeps beneath a darken'd brow : 
When with our whole young happy hearts, 

We loved and laugh'd away the time ; 
Nor thought how quickly all departs, 

So cherish'd in life's early prime, 

Long, long ago ! 



Long ago ! the hopes we nursed 
Of happiness, of earthly fame. 

Were bright, as bubbles are, that burst — 
A glittering drop — an empty name ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 299 

Oh, but to be one hour again — 

Whatever that sweet hour might cost — 

Free from dim memory's torturing pain, 
With those we loved, with those we lost, 

Long, long ago ! 

Long ago ! who breathes there here, 

O'er whom the past hath no such power ? 
Young heart, if now thy sky is clear. 

Beware, beware the future hour : 
Perchance the chords that echo now. 

In after years thou'lt hear again ; 
And, gazing on each faded brow. 

Wilt, sighing, say, " I heard that strain" 

Long, long ago ! 



300 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



TO R. B. S., 

AT MADRAS. 



Far o'er the dim and dreary-rolling wave, 

Whose moaning waters many a country lave ; 

Through the dark veil of distance and of time, 

From Britain's shore to India's burning clime, 

My wandering fancy roves, unchain'd and free, 

And my heart sends its greeting unto thee. 

To thee, my brother ! oft in dreams I roam, 

'Neath the blue heaven of thy stranger home ; 

And strive in vain the shadowy change to throw 

Which Time hath wrought upon thy youthful brow : 

In vain, though all around, each varying hour. 

Fades, sinks, and changes ! 'neath the spoiler's power ; 

Though reason argues, some sweet ray is gone — 

Some cloud hath darken'd where all cloudless shone — 

And the gay look of youth hath given place 

To soberer hues, which time and sorrow trace ; 

The sun-burnt cheek less full — in vain ! in vain ! 

Thou to my fancy dost unchanged remain. 

Even as we parted, still I see thee stand, • 

Thy glowing cheek by western breezes fann'd : 

Thy open, generous, manly look, that threw 

Its glance of gladness round, as if it drew 

Its joy from others' happiness, is bright, 

As if no tears since shed could dim its light. 



MISCEI, T- AX ROUS POEMS. 301 

Yes, thus, with boyhood's sunshine on thy brow — 
Its smile on thy full lip — I see thee now. 
My brother I is it then a weary dream — 
Art thou no longer what thou still dost seem ] 
And is thy voice now ringing in mine ear — 
All that will be unchanged from year to year 1 
Alas ! alas ! that thou, e'en thou, must share 
The ills and changes all earth's creatures bear? 
And now where art thou ? on that foreign strand : 
In dreary musings of thy native land, 
Dost thou^ too, gaze across the heaving main? 
Dost thou, too, image forth thy home again. 
With all its store of laughing eyes and voices. 
And long-past joy, that now no miore rejoices ? 
Dost thou., too, from thy bosom draw a tress. 
The dear memorial of lost loveliness ? 
And sadly dreaming, see once more arise 
The wild dark beauty of those eager eyes, 
Whose light once flash'd beneath the sun-burnt brow, 
Where waved that lock — where naught is waving now 
Save southern flowers : their colours are not dim — 
They bloom in silence near, but not for him : 
Oh, not for him ! unseen, uncull'd, they wave. 
And bud, and bloom, and wither — on a grave ! 
Thou dost — for did not these beloncr to thee ? 
Oh vainly wide between us rolls the sea — 
The same young hopes and feelings have been ours : 
Together we have pluck'd the same sweet flowers. 
Sung the same songs, and, 'neath one mother's care, 
Humm'd with infant lisp the same sweet prayer. 
And still the same deep thoughts to all will come. 
Though waves and deserts part them from their home : 
Still the same griefs will move each distant breast ; 
And the dim memories of that home of rest 
20 



302 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Force the big tear in solitude to start : 

Or with vain longings wring the lone and yearning heart ! 

And there is happiness in this — to know 

That wheresoe'er thou art, in weal or woe — 

Fond hearts are beating, unto whom thy name 

Is dearer than the trumpet voice of fame : 

And eyes are beaming here^ that might they live 

In all the sunshine which the world could give, 

Would deem it darkness wert thou never there. 

In the young gladness of their life to share. 

Sorrow may try us, but our hearts will cling 

Even closer in the hour of sorrowing ; 

And keep the fervent fondness of our youth 

With less of passion, but with more of truth. 

So the storm passes o'er the weed that binds 

The forest tree, and with its ruffling winds 

Scatters its fragile blossoms, and lays low 

What buds of beauty had begun to blow : 

But when the dewy morn again hath sent 

Its blush of light into the firmament. 

There we miay see wan-withering in the air 

The buds of last night's sunset — Yea, and there, 

Weak but unwavering — tearfully but true. 

The clinging plant remains, to bud and bloom anew. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 303 



CHATELAR'S FAREWELL. 



Farewell, thou dearest of all things, 

Beneath the bright and blessed sky ; 
Since thy loved voice the mandate brings, 

'Twill not be hard to die : 
And yet, was it thy voice which spoke 

The wild and withering word of Death 1 
Thy voice, whose tone the love awoke 

Which haunts my parting breath ! 

Oh ! when the heart which hath so well 

Its deep and lone devotion proved. 
Is still — and tongues have ceased to tell 

How guiltily it loved — 
Wilt thou, wilt thou^ who, for that crime. 

Hath doom'd its warm life-blood to pour, 
Think sometimes of the olden time. 

The smile and song of yore 1 

Yes, Mary, yes ! each burning thought 

The quivering lip refused to own ; 
Each glance of love shall rise unsought, 

And haunt thee when alone ! 
When watching as we watch'd the rays 

Of evening's pale and gentle star. 
Memory will bring my short en'd days, 

Thou'lt weep for Chatelar. 



804 " MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. , 



A DREAM OF ERIN. 



It was a dream — one of those airy things 
That, though unreal, with bright imaginings 
Will fill the ardent spirit — and I stood 
By the lone shore of the deep heaving flood 
Listening unto the music of those waves, 
And dreaming of a land — the land of slaves ! 
Sudden the waters hush'd, and all around 
Fell in the moonlight, still as fairy ground, 
And a low moaning voice the silence broke, 
Deepening its words to music as it spoke; 
I turn'd, and saw a creature of thin air. 
Wan, melancholy, beauteous, moving there : 
And ever as the silent ocean spray 
Dash'd o'er 4ts form — it seem'd to melt away, 
Yet in its gentleness again renew'd 
Its murmur'd woe to that lone solitude. 
'Twas Erin's genius — well her voice I knew^ 
Half wail — ^half music— sad, but tender too. 
Green as those glassy waters was her vest, 
And thus the sleeping island she address'd :— 
Land of the brave, whose boast is to be free, 
England ! arise, and chain the encroaching sea ! 
Whilst thou dost sleep, the wakeful billows foam- 
Fast o'er thy shore the proud invaders come ; 
And stealing on unseen, each night and day. 
Waste some small portion of thy strength away. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.* 305 

Still as those waters — sleepless as those waves — 

England, I call thee from a land of slaves ! 

Hear, tyrant sister ! careless of her sigh, 

And treacherous in thy tyranny, hear the cry ! 

Wake from thy heavy slumber, feign'd so well, 

And breathe reluctantly the potent spell — • 

E'er the chafed waters, rising in their pride, 

Roll on in power, and whelm thee with their tide ! 

Vainly in silence wouldst thou hear my moan, 

Vainly with silence greet my anguish'd groan ; 

Vainly incline thy coward ear to those, 

To me — -to thee — to all but interest, foes ; 

Who bid thee (let the timid souls beware) 

Leave the lone island to her own despair : 

And vainly wouldst thou drown, with fierce debate, 

All thoughts but those most foreign to her fate. 

The hour of silence comes — and, lo ! again 

Her maddening voice will rise o'er mountain and o'er 

main ! 
Thou who dost falsely say that all are free, 
When govern 'd by thy happy laws and thee, 
England, I call thee ! do thou answer me ! 
Is freedom theirs whose infant words proclaim 
(By others taught) the blessing but a name ; — 
Who from a father's lips — a mother's tears — 
Learn what themselves will teach in after years ? 
Is freedom theirs, whose weary life is spent 
In feverish pining, war, and discontent ; 
Whose very tongues, subservient to your will, 
Must speak the given mandate, or be still 1 
Is freedom theirn whom no ambition fires, 
Or, useless all, flames, sinks, and then expires ; 
Who enter life, debarred life's choicest flame, 
The patriot's ardour, and the statesman's name? 
20* 



306 ■ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Oh ! think not thus securely souls to blind, 

Nor leave the body free, yet chain the mighty mind. 

And ye, young ardent sons of England's coast, 

Are foreign woes the woes that move ye raiost 1 

Are brothers than the stranger brave less dear ? 

Is grief insipid when it draws so near '? 

Go — ye who weep o'er Hella's classic plains, 

Ye, who lament the fallen Spartans' chains. 

Who call'd the feeble treacherous fawning Greek, 

And taught him how a hero's son should speak ; 

Breathed in his ear the words of life and light, 

And sent the timorous shrinking slave to fight : 

Go, Briton, to your British brothers tell, 

The tale of freedom ye have learnt so well ; 

They wait no warning from a foreign tongue. 

They want no songs as ye to Greece have sung ; 

Each gallant heart, all lowly though it be. 

Pants with the wish of Nature to be free ! 

And wherefore stand ye calmly gazing on, 

As one by one those broken hearts are gone ; 

Is the dark picture drawn too near, too real, 

For souls that ail-poetically feel 1 

Is Ireland, with her rough and rugged name, 

Unworthy notice from the sons of fame ; 

Do her swart children gaunt and haggard rise, 

In all the wretchedness that want supplies ; 

And is their squalid poverty a ban 

Against the common rights of common man 1 

Away, ye fawners on the crowd's applause, 

Ye great upholders of a little cause ; 

And ye, m.y unforgotten sons, appear, 

And ring your names in Albion's slumbering ear ! 
****** 

****** 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 307 

And first arose the bright and noble shade 

Of him, the loved, the murder'd, the betray'd ; 

And proudly still that brow of beauty burns, 

And fondly still to Erin's shore he turns : 

Unconquer'd, even in death, the patriot zeal 

That arm'd the hero for his country's weal. 

Yes ! he was of the beautiful of earth ; 

That brow was made for glory and for mirth ; 

But fate, who clouded all his store of life. 

And saw him perish in unequal strife. 

Bade disappointment follow where he trod, 

Lest earth should kneel, and own him for a God. 

Lo ! by his side, inferior far in name, 

Another candidate for death and fame ; 

Firm in his purpose, steadfast there he stands. 

And grasps his sword with both his glowing hands : 

On his broad forehead beams the meteor light 

Of hope unquench'd, unwavering, pure and bright, 

"Which still in whispers promise future joy, 

Shone to delude, and flatter'd to destroy ; 

And then methought there wander'd after him 

A gentle form with long, lone watchings dim. 

Sorrows and tears had left their withering trace, 

And clouded o'er his fair and eager face. 

Young mournful spirit ! thy unnoticed name 

In happier times had graced the rolls of fame ; 

And when thy arm sunk powerless in the grave, 

Remain'd a watchword to the truly brave ; 

They past, and many a shadow from the tomb 

Rose in dark power, and fleeted through the gloom ; 

While the sad spirit wrung her hands, and sent 

A wail of woe into the firmament. 

Ye, who for Sparta would have sung and bled, 

Hear the upbraiding of the mighty dead ; 



308 MISCELLANEOUS tOEMS. 

Far, where the moaning waters idly roll, 

Lies many a young Leonidas in soul ; 

And they who call thee, in thy pride of power, 

Have they not weakly waited for their hour ? 

Have they not borne in silence and with shame, 

Patient — enduring — when you thought them tame ; 

Have they not learnt to hate the sound of chain.s. 

To raise their voices on their native plains ; 

To check each vain coraiplaint, each fruitless sigh, 

To bleed — to starve — to struggle, and to die 1 

They have ;— and though no classic words may grace 

The resting places of the fallen race. 

Yet they had names, which have not sunk to rest, 

But thrill with trembling every faithful breast ; 

And there are times when sore hearts feel these wounds, 

When names are spells, and words not empty sounds ; 

When the tame sword, which slept for idle years, 

Unstain'd with blood, and rusted o'er with tears, 

Starts from the scabbard like a shooting star, 

And gleams the foremost in the front of war. 

Sudden, methought, the vision seem'd to smile, 

And sunshine gladden'd o'er the waking isle — 

And many a well-known voice burst on my ear, 

To Erin welcome, and to England dear ! 

Young, glorious forms were they, and as each one 

Pleaded that injured cause— The deed was done. 

Sad Erin's bonds were broken — wild and high 

Peal'd the loud shout of freedom to the sky ! 

And murmuring voices from exulting bands, 

England and Erin mingling hearts and hands, 

Thrill'd through my heart, and proudly bid it bound, 

Till it awoke, with swelling to that sound ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 309 



ALLAN PERCY. 



It was a beauteous lady richly dress'd ; 

Around her neck are chains of jewels rare, 
A velvet mantle shrouds her snowy breast, 

And a young child is softly slumbering there. 
In her own arms, beneath that glowing sun. 

She bears him- onward to the greenwood tree ; 
Is the dun heath, thou fair and thoughtless one, 

The place where an earl's son should cradled be 1 
Lullaby ! 

Though a proud earl be father to my child, 

Yet on the sward my blessed babe shall lie : 
Let the winds lull him with their murmurs wild, 

And toss the green boughs upward to the sky : 
Well knows that earl how long my spirit pined : 

I loved a forester, glad, bold, and free 
And had I wedded as my heart inclined, 

My child were cradled 'neath the greenwood tree. 
Lullaby ! 



Slumber thou still, my innocent — mine own. 
While I call back the dreams of other days: 

In the deep forest I feel less alone, 

Then when those palace splendours mock my gaze. 



310 MISCELXANEOUS POEMS. 

Fear not, my arm shall bear thee safely back ; 

I need no squire, no page with bended knee, 
To bear my baby through the wild wood track. 

Where Allan Percy used to roam with me. 
Lullaby ! 

Here I can sit, and while the fresh wind blows. 

Waving the ringlets t)f thy shining hair. 
Giving thy cheek a deeper tinge of rose, 

I can dream dreams that comfort my despair ; 
I can make visions of a different home, 

Such as we hoped in other days might be ; 
There no proud earl's unwelcome footsteps come. 

There, Allan Percy, I am safe with thee ! 
Lullaby ! 

Thou art mine own — I'll bear thee where I list, . 

Far from the dull proud tower and donjon keep ; 
From my long hair the pearl chains I'll untwist. 

And with a peasant's heart sit down and weep. 
Thy glittering broider'd robe, my precious one. 

Changed for a simpler covering shall be ; 
And I will dream thee Allan Percy's son. 

And think poor Allan guards thy sleep with me. 
Lullaby ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 311 



PRAYER. 



MORNING. 



In the morning of thy days, 

When thy youth is glad and strong ; 
When thine eye hath glancing rays, 

And thy light step leaps along ; 
When thy cheek is red with health, 

And thy locks are glossy bright ; 
When in poverty or wealth 

Thou canst equally delight ; 
Holding in thy heart a store 

Of fresh hopes to bear thee on, 
(Waves all rolling to the shore. 

Glittering in the rising sun !) 
When a circle of home-friends. 

Yet unbroken, hems thee round, 
And each voice its welcome sends 

With a sweet familiar sound ; 
When the future, yet untried, 

Seems all promise, and all joy ; 
Love rewarded — want supplied — 

Happiness without alloy ; — 
Then, though brilliant be thy morn, 

Cloudless and serene thy sky, 
From the day when thou wert bom, 

Look to that when thou must die. 



312 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Many a cloud of sin and strife 

Must obscure the distant heaven, 
Ere thou yieldest up thy life 

To the God by whom 'twas given ! 
Therefore in the morning light, 

In the sultry noontide glow, 
Yea, till evening dew doth fall, 

Prav to Him, through joy and woe ! 



EVENING. 



In the evening of thy day, 

When thy step is slow and weak ; 
When thy locks are silver-gray. 

And thy tongue must feebly speak ; 
When thine eyes can scarce discern 

Faces most familiar dear ; 
And thy deaf ears vainly turn 

Where the song resoundeth clear ; 
When thou creepest to the fire. 

Warming thy poor wither'd form ; 
And the stretch of thy desire 

Is safe shelter from the storm ; 
When thy years are garner'd up 

In the harvest of the past, 
And the dregs of life's low cup 

Are brief days, that cannot last ; 
When thy home friends, one by one, 

Have departed to their rest. 
Thou, the last leaf, fluttering on 

Boughs no more in verdure drest ; 
When — the summons heard at length — 

Death's strange shadows round thee close ;- 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 313 

In thy weakness shall be strength, 

In thy weariness repose, 
If thou did'st remember still 

Thy Creator in thy youth, 
Doing all His gracious will, 

Walking by the light of truth. 
Fear not thou to lose thy way, 

When the evening gloom hath come — 
God, whom thou didst serve all day. 

Bids His angels guide thee home ! 
27 



314 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE BROKEN HEART. 

(from the GERMAN OF H. HEINE.) 



The mother at the lattice stands, — 

The son in bed doth lie, — 
" Rise, William ! the procession 

Is slowly wending by." 

"Alas ! I neither hear nor see, 

So deep my grief, so sore ; 
I think of my dead Margaret, 

And my heart aches more and more !" 

" Rise ! take thy rosary and book, 

To Kevlaar let us go ; 
The Holy Virgin, she can cure 

Thy sick heart of its wo !" 

The holy banners flutter wide ; 

The litanies are sung ; 
And from Cologne to Kevlaar, 

Pass on, both old and young. 

The mother leadeth in the crowd 

Her sick son tenderly ; 
And both join chorus in the hymn — 

« Blessed be Thou, Marie !" 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 315 

The Virgin stands at Kevlaar, 

Array'd in vesture fine ; 
And many a sick and grieving wretch 

Kneels humbly at her shrine : 

They bring her simple offerings, 

For simple worship meet ; 
Wax figures of deceased limbs,* 

Wax hands and waxen feet. 

And he who brings a waxen hand 

Is heal'd of hurt or wound ; 
And he who brings a waxen foot. 

Straightway his foot is sound. 

Lame men came into Kevlaar, 
Who might go dancing thence ; 

And crippled fingers wake the harp 
To music's eloquence. 

The mother took a waxen torch 

And shaped it to a heart : 
" Take that to her who healeth all. 

And she shall cure thy smart !" 

Sighing, he took the imaged heart. 

And at the shrine he bent ; 
His tears and words together gush'd, 

With passionate lament. 

* This is a common species of votive offering in the Catholic 
churclies ; tlie sides of the walls adjoining the altars of favourite 
chapels are IVequently covered with them. 



316 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

" To thee, O Blessed One of Heaven ! 

To thee, O Virgin pure. 
Humbly and sadly I make known 

The sorrow I endure ! 

" I dwelt beneath my mother's roof, 
Where Cologne's spires ascend. 

And many a church and chapel there, 
Thy worshippers attend. 

" And near us dwelt poor Margaret, — 
But she is dead and gone ! 

Virgin ! I bring a waxen heart, 
Cure thou, — oh ! cure my own ! 

" Heal my sick heart ! and I will pray 

Early and late to thee ; 
And gladly and devoutly sing — 

' Blessed be Thou, Marie !' " 

The sick son and the mother, both 
In one low chamber slept ; 

The Holy Virgin enter'd there,— 
Without a sound she stept. 

She bent above the sick man's bed — 

She lightly laid her hand 
Upon that young and aching neart, — 

Her smile was soft and bland ! 

Dreaming, the mother saw her come. 
And dreaming saw her go ; 

And, waking, heard the watch-dog bark, 
And saw the sunrise glow. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. * 317 

And there her son lay motionless, 

Stretch'd out all pale and dead, 
While on his cheek the morning sun 

Shone with a life-like red ! 



Bewilder'd, sad, she clasp'd her hands, 

And sank on bended knee ; 
But soon with faltering voice she sang — 

" Blessed be Tliou, Marie !" 
27* 



318 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE POWER OP MUSIC. 



Oh ! magic spell, that rulest o'er the heart 
Of old and young, of ignorant and wise ; 

Spirit, that liest hidden in the chords. 

From which no winded form is seen to rise 



'^b^ 



Whence art thou 1 wherefore canst thou soothe, or rouse, 

Enchant to rapture, or subdue to grief? 
Whence the faint pining for vague naelodies 

To give the sad and burden'd soul relief? 

The old man heareth suddenly by chance 
Some air familiar in his vanish'd years, — 

Dim falls the shadow 'neath his drooping lids, 
And all his melting soul dissolves in tears ! 

The Switzer serving in a foreign land. 

Under the milder glow of southern skies, — 

The mountain-music of his childhood hears. 

And straightway sickens, pines away, and dies !* 

Quick grows the beating of the lover's heart ; — 
A woman's pulse sinks fainting in the throng ;— 

The one hath heard a ballad that he knows, — 
The other listens to a cradle-song ! 

* Some of the Swiss airs, and more especially the Hans dea 
Vaches, have been forbidden by military orders, " as causing deser- 
tions, fevers, and deaths." 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 319 

The one "beholds a visionary face 

Uplifted to his own for loving praise, — 

The other sees a little curly head 

Low buried, long ago, in hopeful days ! 

And many a heart, though firmly nerved to bear. 

Will open to that key of magic sound ; 
When tones that never more can thrill with life 

Come with pale ghosts of memory crowding round. 

Then, while the unknown echoes wander by, 

Which strangers hear not, in our own sad breast, 

We look on things around with vacant eye, 
Dreaming of those who dwell in silent rest ! 



820 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE echo- 



There is a mournful echo in ray soul, 

A dim sweet echo of bright days gone "by — 
And wandering visions o'er my spirit roll, 

Making me pause and weep I know not why. 
Pleasure is round my path, and many a joy 

Wooes me alluringly to win my smile-— 
But sadly still I view each glittering toy, 

And turn with yearning tears to weep the while. 
Alas ! all round is fair and bright and gay. 
But the lost days of old — oh, where are they ? 

There is a mournful echo in ray heart. 

Murmurs and whispers from the lonely grave — 
Where rest in their dark slumber, loath to part, 

The loved, the lost, and all the peace they gave. 
Mv hand is clasp'd — ^but not by those of yore, 

And kindly looks are cast on me in vain — 
They bring me thoughts of those whose eyes no more 

Shall beam my glance of gladness back again. 
With dreamy fondness, sad I turn away. 
The welcome friends of old — oh, where are they ? 

There is a mournful echo in mine ear, 

A dim, faint echo of each -silver tone, 
Link'd with lost things, still wept for, still most dear, 

lliough o'er those beaming brows the grass is grown ; 



' MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 321 

Voices are round me with a laughing sound 
That thrills my heart to sadness as it falls, 

And young bright rosy lips are breathing round ; 
But vainly through those bright and desert halls 

Those stranger tones are ringing loud and gay, 

The voices of my youth — oh, where are they ? 



322 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SPRITE; 

OB, 

THE FAIEY OF THE HAWTHOKN TREE 



Once on a time, on a summer's day, * 

When mowers were tossing the new-made hay, 
And children were playing in garden bowers, 
And butterflies flitting among the flowers, 
And dragon-flies darting here and there, 
All gold and gi'een in the sunny air — 
A hawthorn tree, that so long had stood, 
Its trunk was all gnarl'd* and knotted wood, 
Ajid its bark half cover 'd with lichen f and moss, 
Was cut down, to make a new path across 
The gentleman's lawn where it shelter'd so long 
The tom-tit's nest and the robin's song : 
Woe is me, ah ! woe is me ! 
A Wood-sprite lived in that hawthorn tree ! 

In every tree a wood-sprite lives : 
With the tree, it suflers, or thrives ; 
Aiid if the tree be cut suddenly down, 
The sprite has no longer a home of its own, 
Nor a shelter to hide its head from the storm, 
Nor a place in winter to keep it warm. 

* GnarVd — rough, knotty bark of a tree.. 
•j- Lichen — a sort of gray moss on old wood. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 323 

They are very timid, and ^vheu they spy 

Men or children approaching nigh, 

Quick, they get into the hollow bole,* 

As a frighten'd rabbit skips back to its hole ; 

And seldom indeed, in the broad noonday. 

Can these little creatures be seen at play : 

But at night, in the moonlight, they all come out ; 

They frisk, they laugh, they frolic about ; 

From the slender branches they twist and s^ving, 

Or they all take hands in a fairy ring. 

And where their little quick feet have been, 

The grass becomes of a fresher green : 

When you walk out, you are sure to know 

The spots where those little feet come and go, 

For wherever a circle of green looks bright, 

There the wood-fairies danced last night. 

But woe is me, ah ! woe is me ! 

For the fairy that lived in that hawthorn tree ! 



When first she heard the woodman come 
And hack the bark, outside her home. 
Her heart beat quick ; and she lay quite close, 
Only once peep'd out the tip of her nose 
To see what the man could be about, 
Knocking away, with such noise and rout : 
When the sharp hatchet went through the wood, 
Amazed, and trembling, there she stood ; 
But when the trunk began to crash. 
Out she leapt, with a sudden dash. 
And, hop, skip, jump, away she ran, 
Round the hatchet, over the man, 

* Bole — the stem of the tree. 



324 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Who thought he saw a white rabbit pass, 
As she flitted over the sunny grass. 

Fast she ran : and she kept away- 
All the morning, and all the day ; 
But when the sun had set in the west, 
And every bird was asleep in its nest, 
And little children were lying, warm — 
The least of all, on the nurse's arm, 
And the others, in cots, and cribs, and beds, 
With cozy pillows beneath their heads — 
Back the poor little Wood-sprite came. 
Weak and weary, sick and lame ; 
Back she came, in the pale moon's light. 
And sat there crying and sobbing all night ! 
Round and round the stump of the tree 
Where her happy home used once to be. 
She wander'd, sorrowful, faint, forlorn, 
Till the sun rose up for another morn ; 
And people who heard her wailing cry 
Thought that the wind was sweeping by, 
While leaning down, on a branch that broke, 
Thus the poor little Fairy spoke : — 

" Oh ! my tree, that I loved so well ! 
Oh ! my home, where I used to dwell ! 
Pleasant branches ! where perfumed flowers 
Blew in the spring-time's sunny hours ; 
Where, in the summer, all day long. 
The birds sat trilling a merry song. 
And the squirrel look'd, with his big brown eyes, 
Down at the earth, and up at the skies : 
Pleasant branches ! whose green leaves made ' 
In the warmth of summer a cool sweet shade. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 325 

And a thick soft shelter when autumn rain 

Came pattering down on the houghs in vain ; 

"Where icicles hung, and frosty rime, 

Like diamonds and glass, in the winter time, 

And bunches of ripe red berries gave. 

Food such as Robin Redbreasts crave : 

Woe is me, ah ! woe is me ! 

Why did they cut down my hawthorn tree ?" 

Then she thought sadly ; what could she do, 

Without a home in a tree that grew ? 

And she went to the wood-sprites she knew the best, 

And begged them for shelter, warmth, and rest : 

But though, for a time, they let her come, 

They could not give her a settled home : 

There was no room but for those, they said, 

Who in the trees were born and bred ; 

And she couldn't expect they would strip themselves 

And their own little brood of lovely elves !* 

The proud Wood-sprite, in the stately beech, 
Made her a haughty angry speech. 
Wondering how she could dare to apply 
To a tree so gracefully tall and high : 
The strong Oak gave her leave to creep 
Into his huge old trunk to sleep. 
While his daughters went to dance and play, 
But when they return'd she must wend her way : 
The rustling Poplars, whose gray leaves quiver, 
The sharp-leaved Willows, down by the river. 
The soft green Limes, (those honoy'd trees. 
Where in June you hear the murmuring bees,) 

* Elves — fairies. 



320 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The stiff Scotch Fir, whose brown trunk shines, 

So golden bright when the sun declines, 

The silver Birch, and the gentle Larch, 

The Sycamore with its stately arch, 

The Elm, and the lovely Mountain Ash, 

Which bends where the falling torrents dash, 

With its fan-like leaves so long and light, 

And its bunches of berries red and bright : 

Each and all forsook her, although 

They told her they loved her, long ago. 

When her white May-flowers scented the breeze 

And made the air pleasant to all the trees. 

When the hawthorn tree was not yet cut down, 

And the little Wood-sprite had a home of her own ! 



Yet she did pretty well, till winter came. 
Humble and slowly, she took with shame 
AVhatever shelter the trees would give, 
To help her without a home to live. 
But one wild night, in a cold November, 
(Oh ! night whose grief she must aye remember !) 
AVhen the whistling wind howl'd cold and loud, 
And the moon was hid in a mass of cloud, 
jVnd the sudden gusts of the driven rain 
Beat like hail on the window-pane. 
In that drear night, of darkest horror. 
The Wood-sprite found, with anxious terror. 
Every tree was shut and closed ; 
And of all the fairies who there reposed. 
Not one could spare her a jot of room ; 
They left her, at last, to her dreadful doom ! 
llie strong wind carried her off the ground, 
Beat her, and hurl'd her and swung her round ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 327 

Lifted her up in the sleety air ; 

Wafted her here, and drifted her there ; 

In vain she struggled, with piercing shriek, 

The wind was mighty, and she was weak ; 

Out of the wood, away it bore her 

Where valley and hill lay stretch'd before her, 

Over the villages, over the towns, 

Over the long smooth Dorsetshire downs, 

Many a breathless terrified mile, 

Till, past even Weymouth, and Portland Isle, 

Woe is me, ah ! woe is me ! 

The little Wood-sprite was blown out to sea ! 

She sank, half dead, in the cold green wave ; 
But the mermaids who sat in the rocky cave, 
(Little creatures who live in the sea. 
As the Wood-sprite lived in the hawthorn tree ; 
Who drink out of shells, and braid their hair 
W^ith pearls and coral so rich and rare ; 
Who swim like fishes, but dive away 
If they think that men look on at their play ;) 
These little sea-creatures pitied her case 
When they look'd on her pale and weary face. 
And seeing she was but a land-sprite's daughter, 
And could not live in the cold blue water, 
They lifted her gently up in their arms, 
Striving to quiet her wild alarms ; 
And they swam with her, all that stormy night, 
Till they put her on shore in the Isle of Wight. 

* 

The storm went down : and calm and still 
The red sun rose upon Fairy Hill,* 

* Fairy Hill — a place in the Isle of Wight, near Ryde, and oppo^ 
Portsmouth. 



828 ^ MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

(A place where the mermaids love to play 
On the smooth sand edging the tiny bay.) 
And the Wood-sprite sat alone once more 
And look'd about on the quiet shore. 
She saw the white-sail'd ships go by, 
And she sigh'd, with a heavy grievous sigh, 
To think that whatever wind might blow 
She had no home to which she might go — 
No one to help her, no one to care 
If she died of hunger and sick despair ! 

Now, down on the shore by Fairy Hill, 
Some fir-trees grew, (and they grow there still t) 
The wood-sprite that own'd them was strong and kind, 
And he heard her sigh on the moaning wind, 
And started out of his clump of trees 
To give the poor Hawthorn Fairy ease. 

He laid some berries down on a stone ; 
And he gather'd his fir-cones, one by one. 
And broke them, and pick'd the freshest seed 
And fed the poor little sprite at her need. 
And when she was better, and grew more gay, 
He carried her down with the waves to play ; 
And when the Queen's yacht was leaving Ryde, 
With a fair fresh wind, and a flowing tide, 
What do you think this wood-spirit did 1 
In one of the sails of the yacht he hid, 
With the Hawthorn Fairy, safe and sound. 
While his strong arm held her firmly round, 
For fear the storm should come again 
And carry her out on the foaming main. 

4 

And when they reach'd land, he bore her on 
From the dawn of day till the set of sun, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 329 

To an old, old oak, in Windsor Park, 
In whose hollow trunk, so wide and dark, 
Fifty wood-sprites live and play. 
Who welcomed her like a holiday ! 

And there she lives ; and if you could know 
The moment, exactly, you ought to go. 
And could just get leave to be out at night, 
You might see them dance in the clear moon's light ; 
Where they hop, and leap, and frisk, and spring, 
And mark the grass with a fairy ring ! 

And let all kind gentlemen warning take 
For this poor little Wood-sprite's mournful sake ; 
And when any new paths are mark'd and plann'd, 
And the woodman comes with his axe in his hand. 
To cut down some hawthorn that long has stood, 
And drive its fairy out in the wood, 
Let him have strict orders to plant anew 
A young tree, near where the old tree grew, 
To shelter the sprite from day to day. 
That she may not by storms be blown away. 
28* 



830 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE STORY OF BLANCHE AND BRUTIKIN. 



In a lone cottage, long ago, 

Upon a dreary moor, 
While the wind whistled, bleak and sad, 

Beyond the well-closed door ; 
Sick unto death, a shepherd lay, 

His two young children near, 
And feeble was the dying voice ' 

Those children strove to hear. '' 

All that the wise old shepherd said 

I scarce have time to tell ; 
He bade his children pray to God, 

And love each other well ; 
He bade them guard his flocks by night 

From hungry wolves that prowl'd ; 
And shelter them in wintry hours, 

When storm-winds moaned and howl'd 
And through the rich green valley, 

And up the sunny hill, 
Lead them in summer time to drink 

Beside the mountain rill : 
And well and faithfully obey 

These clear and plain commands, 
Till the great lord of the manor 

Came back from foreign lands. 

He bade them humbly trust in God, 
And in their Bible read, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 331 

That the Father of the ftitherless 

Might help them at their need : 
And careflilly repair and keep, 

That they might safely dwell, 
Two houses he had built for them, 

When he was strong and well : 
Two small neat houses, side by side, 

With windows set in each; 
And roses growing round the door, 

Which little hands might reach. 
And thus the good old shepherd died, 

And left his children lone ; 
And they buried him, and carved his name 

Upon a churchyard stone. 

Then both these orphans grieved : and both 

Intended to obey 
The gentle loving words they heard 

The dying shepherd say. 
But one was selfish, lazy, rude, 

Unfit for steady life ; 
Hard to persuade, or teach, or guide. 

And prone to brawling strife. 
And in a few short days he broke 

The promises he made 
To that dear father who was gone, 

And in the graveyard laid. 
Unlike his gentle sister Blanche, 

Who, dutiful and meek, 
Did all, as if she still could hear 

That kind old father speak. 

In the clear morninj]: still she rose. 
And said her usual prayers. 



832 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And cheerfully she plodded through 

Her many household cares ; 
And led the flock her father left, 

To feed upon the hill ; 
And guided them at sunset, 

To the bubbling silver rill ; 
And put them safe in fold at night, 

And left the watch-dog nigh, 
That at his honest angry bark 

The coward wolf might fly ; 
And train'd the woodbines, higher yet, 

Upon the cottage wall, 
And pruned the roses, where they grew, 

So sweet and fresh and tall ; 
And planted flowers, and strawberries, 

In her small plot of ground, 
And painted all the railing green. 

That fenced her garden round : 
While a little pet lamb followed 

All her steps where'er she went. 
And strangers said, you scarce could tell, 

Which look'd most innocent. 
And every Sabbath, when the bell's 

Sweet chime was on the air. 
She rested from her work, and kept 

God's Holiday of Prayer. 
And walk'd along the lone hill-side, 

Through pleasant paths she knew, 
Where primroses, and violets. 

And lovely harebells grew ; 
Across the valley to the church, 

Where tuneful hymns were sung. 
And the' grave preacher taught the Word, 

To hearts of old and young. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 333 

And there, she too sang hynins and pray'd ; 

And when the church was o'er, 
Went home agaui with cheerful heart, 

Across the dreary moor. 
So little Blanche pass'd harmlessly 

A life of happy hours, 
And bright and beautiful she grew, 

Like one of her own flowers ! 

Her brother's name was Brutikin : 

Rough, shaggy, was his hair, 
And scowling dark his sullen face, 

As hers was soft and fair ; 
And rugged was his angry speech ; 

And his neglected dress. 
Like a poor wandering beggar's, 

Soil'd with dirt and with distress. 
His foolish wayward life, alas ! 

In different mood was spent ; 
No cheerful, happy days had he, 

But darkest discontent ; 
The morning came, the glorious sun 

Shone out and bid him rise ; 
But never found him glad to lift 

His dim, unwilling eyes : 
Like the dull sluggard in the hymn, 

He turn'd his heavy head. 
And snored away the early hours. 

Still lingering in his bed ; 
And when at last he rose unwash'd, 

And forth his way he took, 
(With yawning mouth, and stretching arms, 

And lazy, vacant look,) 
Nothing of useful or of good 



334 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

He did, the livelong day ; 
But in the sunshine saunter'd out, 

To loiter and to play. 
He led a careless, useless life. 

Of dull and sinful sloth, 
Leaving to little Blanche the tasks 

Their father meant for both; 
And never help'd her, howsoe'er 

Her weaker arms might tire. 
When carrying heavy logs of wood 

To light the winter fire ; 
Nor walk'd beside her to the fold. 

When dim the evening light, 
And wolves went howling o'er the snow, 

And fiU'd her with affright. 
He never said a prayer at morn. 

Nor when the Sabbath came ; 
His heart was callous to reproof, 

And dead to sense of shame ; 
The little that he once had learnt 

Kept fading from his mind. 
As shores grow dim, to those at sea, 

When land is far behind ; 
And for the house his father built, 

Untended, unrepair'd, 
It rotted, broke, and fell away. 

He neither knew nor cared. 
The window-panes were crack'd with stones ; 

The roof was falluig in ; 
The thatch was damp with moss and dirt ; - 

The rose-trees dead and thin ; 
The garden waste and trodden down, 

Where nettles choked the flowers ; 
Where pools of stagnant water kept 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 335 

The rain of many showers ; 
Where odious yellow tOad-stools raix'd 

With blades of rankest grass ; 
Where broken palings, half sunk down, 

Let rats and weazels pass ; 
Where nothing good, and nothing bright, 

And nothing pleasant grew ; 
But a damp, unwholesome smell rose up 

With every wind that blew. 
A dismal pigsty of a place. 

That once was neat and trim ; 
Now spoilt, defaced, and blotted out, 

Witlustrange defect, like him ! 

But while his cottage thus remain'd, 

Untouch'd by lazy hands, 
The great lord of the manor 

Return'd fi'om foreign lands ! 
Tlirough the green valley, up the hill. 

Across the barren moor. 
His proud steed bore him bravely on. 

Past many a cottage door ; 
And Blanche's house, so thrifty neat, 

The great lord now has seen ; 
The pretty woodbined trellis-work, 

The palings fresh and green ; 
But who shall tell the proud contempt, 

The anger and surprise, 
When the broken, home of Brutikin 

First met his searching eyes ! 
Beneath its crooked, crumbling porch, 

Half in the open air. 
Stood sulky Brutikin himself, 

With stupid, vacant stare. 



336 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Watching to see the show go by, 

Without a bow or sign ; 
To see the great lord's glossy horse, 

With housings rich and fine, 
The foresters with silver spears 

And velvet green array, 
And the servitors in scarlet coats 

To tend him on his way. 
Without a bow, stood Brutikin, 

And watch'd them onward pass, 
Like a poor gipsy's cur that stares 

From out the hedgerow grass. 
" Great Heaven," said the stately lord, 

" What shaggy thing is this ] 
I never saw a creature yet. 

With manners so amiss ! 
And wherefore this unsightly hut, 

. Rear'd up against a tree ? 
Clear it away before the dawn, 

For here it shall not be." 
But, as he proudly spoke these words, 

And spurr'd his horse to go, 
Out of the other house came Blanche, 

And curtsied humbly low. 
And as the great lord saw her stand, 

The pet lamb by her side. 
He look'd at her and kindly smiled, 

And check' d his eager ride. 
While modestly, though earnestly, 

She begg'd a fortnight's grace. 
That Brutikin might yet repair 

That spoil'd and broken place ! 
And the great lord granted what she ask'd, 

And then rode on in state, 



MISCEI.1.AXE0US POEMS. 337 

Nor paused till he dismounted 
At his own ancestral gate. 

Then clasping both her hands, poor Blanche 

Bad Brutikin adjured, 
To do his long neglected tasks. 

While yet that grace endured. 
But fiercely Brutikin struck down 

The palings where she stood, - 
Till in his sister's face he sent 

The splints of rotten wood : 
" And do you dare to lecture me .^" 

He passionately said ; 
" Get in ! or I will make you hide 

Your bold presumptuous head. 
I will obey no lord, not I, 

Nor mend the hut's low door ; 
Nor stay here to be bullied 

On this black and dreary moor ; 
I'll seek another lord to serve, 

Another happier land ; 
You ! grovel servile as you will, 

Beneath a servile band !" 
Then, right across the garden-rail, 

He swung a lump of mould ; 
If it had reach'd his sister's head 

Her death-knell had been toll'd ; 
But she ran in, and hid herself. 

And sat her down and wept. 
And meekly pray'd for Brutikin 

That night before she slept. 

Next morning Brutikin set forth, 
And wander'd on alone, 
29 



338 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Till the winter sunlight faded, 

And the day went coldly down ; 
Till the winter sunlight faded, 

And the snow began to fall, 
Noiseless, and feathery, and soft, 

But slowly covering all ! 
The clouds above grew leaden dark ; 

The path below grew white ; 
The track across the dreary moor 

Was hidden from his sight ! 
Great fear came over Brutikin ; 

His heart beat quick and fast ; 
He look'd on all sides for relief. 

But no one journey'd past. 
The sign-post, with its silent hands. 

Kept pointing out the road, 
Which would iiave led him safely back 

To Blanche's neat abode : 
His frighten'd eyes were fix'd on it ; 

But he had given small heed 
To lessons which his father left, 

To teach his son to read ; 
And vainly, at that silent guide. 

He look'd and long'd to know 
Which way his weary feet should tread 

The pathless wastes of snow. 
Then, lectures half^remember'd. 

With voices good and kind. 
Came 'back, imperfect and confused, 

To that poor wanderer's mind : 
Much came, but nothing clearly ; 

He strove to summon back 
, Something his father used to say 

About the- eastward track ; - 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 339 

About the sunrise, and his home ; 

The shepherds, and the star ; 
And how to tell his certain road, 

When wandering afar. 
But more and more bewilder'd still 

He grew, and faint with fears. 
While the sharp wind with a moaning sound 

Came whistling in his ears. 

Ah ! little Blanche, had she been there, 

Had prompted every word, 
For well that sweet child treasured up 

Whatever good she heard : 
She could have track'd her homeward path 

Through all that waste of snow. 
And as her father told it then. 

She could have told it now ; 
How, in the East, the glorious East, 

The lovely garden lay. 
Where Paradise was planted 

In Creation's dawning day ; 
How, in the East, the Angel stood, 

With bright and flaming sword. 
When, driven from the first fair home 

Appointed by the Lord, 
Sad Adam wander'd forth with Eve, 

To earn his bread by toil, 
And till, in a more gloomy world, 

A hard, ungrateful soil ! 
How, in the East, the glorious East, 

A second Hope arose. 
Whose promise still abides with man, 

Until existence close ; 
The star, the wondrous star, which shone 



340 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

With clear and holy light, 
By simple shepherds first beheld, 

Who watch'd their flocks by night ; 
When wise men, journeying from the East, 

With gifts of precious worth, 
Did homage to the Child divine, 

The Saviour of the earth ! 
How, every morning, in the East, 

The sun awakes, and gives 
Light, warmth, and glory unto all, 

The meanest thing that lives ; 
And, like God's mercy, looking down, 

Its beams of radiance know 
No difference 'twixt rich and poor. 

No rule of high and low. 
How, finally, their home was built. 

Right in the eastward track ; 
And following still the eastward path, 

Would bring them safely back ! 

But Brutikin forgot it all — 

His father's dear behest— ;- 
His memory would not serve to tell 

His journey east or west : 
Bewilder'd, shuddering, cold, he stood ; 

Each hour more faint and chill ; - 
And snow came drifting with the wind 

That whistled down the hill. 
Then, like the Prodigal, his heart 

To slow repentance woke. 
And fi'om. his sad, despairing lips 

A cry of anguish broke : 
" How many duteous children, now. 

Are sleeping safe and warm. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 341 

While I, by my rebellion made 

An exile in the storm, 
Must perish in this lonely place, 

And no one ever know 
How dismal was the death I died, 

Upon this waste of snow !" 
Even while he spoke, his veins grew chill ; 

He sank upon the ground ; 
He heard no more the winter wind 

That howl'd and moan'd around. 
A horrid drowsiness came on ; 

A painful freezing sleep : 
He could not breathe ; he could not call ; 

He could not speak or weep. 
The snow-flakes, on his helpless limbs, 

Fell faster than before, 
And in the snow-drift, lost he lay, 

Upon the dreary moor ! 

Oh, gentle Blanche ! Oh, patient Blanche ! 

Where were you in that hour ? 
Close by, close by, and struggling on, 

Against that freezing shower. 
Well did she heed the sign-post near, 

The setting sun afar. 
And the station in the heavens above 

Of every silver star. 
By these she track'd her way, and brought 

Two foresters so bold. 
To help poor wandering Brutikin, 

Should he be numb'd with cold. 
She looks for him across the snow. 

But nothing there she sees, 
Except the thin and broken boughs 
29* 



342 MISCELLANEOUS fOEMS. 

Of stunted, leafless trees. 
She looks again across the snow,^- 

But nothmg is in sight, 
And the dreary moor looks drearier still, 

All hid in solemn white. 
She looks again across the snow,— 

And, lo ! a rising mound, 
Where the dog of those two foresters 

Is smelling round and round. 
The dog barks short, and scratches hard ; 

The wise brute knows, beneath 
That smooth white heap of drifted snow, 

Lies human life or death ! 

The foresters are digging now, 

With pickaxe and with spade, 
And Blanche stands by, with anxious heart, 

Half hopeful, half afraid ; 
Till, all at once, the instinct 

Of the faithful dog proves true, 
And the senseless form of Brutikin, 

Uncover'd, meets their view ! 
His eyes are shut ; his lips are blue ; 

His hands are clench'd and cold ; 
His hair is damp in heavy locks, 

With snow, and mud, and mould : 
And tender Blanche, who yet hath stood 

So silent and so meek, 
Flings her kind arms around his neck. 

And sobs, but cannot speak. 
Her big tears fall as fast as rain 

Upon his senseless face. 
But vain is all her grief, and vain 

The warmth of her embrace ; 



miscellaneous' POEMS. 343 

For while they lift him, sideways droops 

His cold, unconscious head, 
And both the foresters declare 

That Brutikin is dead ! 

But Heaven (long suffering and mild) 

Hath mercy yet in store : 
His hands unclasp ; his eyes unclose ; 

He lives, he breathes once more ! 
And with a prayer his frozen tongue 

Its feeble speech begins : 
" May Heaven have mercy on my soul, 

And pardon all my sins !" 

Oh, who shall tell his fervent joy, 

When by his side he sees 
Dear little patient loving Blanche, 

Meek kneeling on her knees ! 
Oh, who shall tell his fervent joy. 

His sense of waking bliss. 
When on his cold, stiff lips he feels 

Her gentle, kindly kiss ! 

The foresters have lifted him, 

And by their friendly aid 
To Blanche's neat, well-order'd home 

Is Brutikin convey'd. 
Warm milk and honey carefully 

By slow degrees they give ; 
And now the foresters declare 

That Brutikin will live ! 

He lived, and he repented ; 

Blanche saw, next morning's sun, 
An alter'd and a better life 



844 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

By Brutikin begun : 
His house in order ; all set right ; 

With many a thankful word 
To little loving patient Blanche, 

He waits the manor's lord. 
And when the great lord came at last, 

And saw the work achieved ; 
All bright, and orderly, and trim, 

Where all had shock'd and grieved ; 
He praised poor Brutikin : he praised 

His courage and his skill : 
His hard work and repentance : 

And notified his will, 
That the steward of his lordly lands, 

Glad Brutikin should make 
Chief ranger of the forest, 

For little Blanche's sake. 

And many a year did Brutikin 

Serve that good master well ; 
And every Christmas, at the time 

When drifting snow-showers fell, 
He thought upon the fearful day. 

When stiff, and blue, and cold. 
They dragg'd him from the snow-drift, 

All clogg'd with mud and mould ; 
And humbly then poor Brutikin, 

With thankful heart, would pray 
To God, — who early let him see 

The error of his way, — 
To give him strength against his faults, 

And ever bring him back 
From valley green, and dreary moor, 

Into the eastward track ! 



MISCELLANEOUS "POEMS. 345 



THE LITTLE WANDERERS. 



[Two little Savoyards were lately discovered frozen to death, on the road to 
Dijon. One of these children was found with his hands clasped, and kneeling 
in the attitude of prayer.] 



Innocent and pious heart ! 

By that act revealing 
What had been thy last good thought, 

And thy dying feeling, 
When the numbing death and cold 

Through thy veins was creeping, 
And the sense of danger woke 

Sense of holy keeping, 

God, the Father ! He could guard. 

Though no mortal hearken'd : 
God, the Father ! He could see, 

Though the storm-cloud darken'd : 
God, the Father ! He could guide 

Children doom'd to wander : 
On His mercy, and His love, 

Did those young hearts ponder. 

When the wild blast, charged with snow. 

Heavily swept by them. 
And in all the bleak, blank world, 

Not a friend stood nigh them ! 



346 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Till within a child's weak heart, 

In the midst of peril, 
Rose the practical true faith — 

Not profession sterile. 

And the real undoubting prayer 

To His throne ascended, 
Who for ever bends to hear 

Those hy men unfriended. 
Yea, He heard thee : — though thy doom 

Wake the tears of woman, 
(Judging with a human heart 

Of a sorrow human.) 

Happier wert thou, to depart, 

(In thy meek prayers dying,) 
Than to live a life of woe, 

Poverty and sighing : 
Happier, from a world more cold 

Than the snow-drift, taken ; 
In a world of glorious light, 

And sunshine, to awaken ! 

Year by year, from distant climes, 

To seek uncertain Fortune, 
Thy little comrades travel here 

Our pity to importune ; 
With music of a foreign land. 

And half-tamed, prison'd creatures^ 
Begging, with imploring smiles 

On their sunburnt features. 

Often beaten, — often made 
Slaves of cruel masters, — 



M I S C E L 1. A X E O U S POEMS. 347 

Hungry, exiled, helpless, faint, 

Full of sad disasters. 
Often, in their troubled sleep, 

Of the fur laud dream inor. 
Where kind faces, friendly eyes, 

And native suns are beaming. 

Yet each mother for thy death 

Weepeth, while she readeth ; 
Thinking of the tender care 

Which her own child needeth ; 
Looking on the soft glad eyes 

With unclouded glances. 
And the light quick fairy step. 

Which around her danqes ; — 

While thy home-friends, perish'd child, 

Picture happy meetings ; 
Knowing not thy fate, they dwell 

On imagined greetings ; 
Praying often, it may be, 

For those little strangers, — 
Long since taken, by God's will, 

Out of this world's dangers ! 



348 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



LAMENT OF THE POET SAVAGE. 



[Savage was so touched by the discovery of his real mother, that it was his 
frequent practice to walk in the dark evenings for several hours before her 
door, in hopes of seeing her as she might come by accident to the window, 
or cross her apartment with a candle in her hand. — Johnson's Lives of the 
Poets.l 



Have ye look'd out across the wide green sea, 

With all its mountain billows raging round, 
And gazing on it, gather'd bitterly 

Unto yourselves the memory of the drown'd? 
While others, gazing with you, in that sound 

Heard nothing but the ocean's ceaseless roar. 
Have ye in every wave beheld a mound 

O'er one who hath no grave ; whence float to shore 
Fond fancied words from him whose lips shall breathe 
no more'? 

. So o'er my gaze across the world's wide sea. 
Sad Memory still her veil of darkness flings. 
Dims with her clouds my soul's full ecstasy. 

And drieth up joy's gushing natural springs. 
So, though to others Time some comfort brings, 

For me it hath no voice, no soothing balm ; 
Still wearily my spirit droops its wings, 

Shrinks sickening from the crowd-awarded palm, 
And yearns for one wreck 'd hope which hath destroy 'd 
its calm. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 349 

Oh, to forget it ! but for one bright day — 

An hour — a happy moment : oh ! to sleep 
And dream not of it ; to arise and say, 

Lo ! here is morning ; and to feel no deep 
And sickening consciousness of cause to weep 

Weigh down the waking soul : to smile, nor fear 
The shades that round my couch their vigil keep, 

Will haunt even then, and murmur in mine ear. 
How canst thou smile when we, the doubly lost, are near. 

Blow, ye wild breezes, o'er my native hills, — 

Bend, ye wild flowers, beneath their gladsome 
breath, — 
Gush on in beauty, founts whose music fills 

The voiceless air, — the taint of sin and death, 
Th' eternal curse that all must bow beneath. 

Rests not on you : forth on its endless quest 
It sweeps o'er sunny bank and desolate heath. 
To find a home within the human breast, 
A fear'd, and loathed, and scorn'd, but never banish'd 
guest. 

The beautiful things of earth ! How have I loved 

To feed my spirit in its silent trance. 
When lone, but free, my eager footsteps roved, 

With each new charm that met my wandering 
glance ; 
The sky — the trees — the flowers — all things which 
chance 
Or my own seeking brought ; but that is past ! 
Never, oh ! never, more my heart shall dance. 
Sending its crimson torrent warm and fast 
To veins whose rushing tide flows cold and slow at last ! 

80 



350 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Deserted — scorn'd — abjured — ere yet I knew 

What such desertion was ; my form, my name, 
My very being known but to a few, 

And by those few remember'd with deep shame. 
As an eternal blot upon the fame 

Of those who, fearing not to sin, did yet 
Fear the upbraiding eyes whose scorn could tame 

Proud hearts that quail'd at every glance they met, 
And having loved in sin, could natm^e's love forget. 

Thus rose life's faint and clouded light to me. 

And yet I had a heart, whose fervent love. 
Whose power to suffer all things patiently, 

Whose boundless hope that still for mastery strove, 
In value might have proved itself above 

The sacrifice affection made to fear ; 
But never may that heart its fondness prove, 

Mine is the bitter disregarded tear, 
The blight which wastes the soul from weary year to 
year. 

Mother unknown, but not the less adored. 

How hath my soul gone forth in search of thine ! 
How hath my wild and eager spirit pour'd 

In its lone watchings, on the face divine 
Of heaven's blue midnight, prayers that might incline 

The Powers above to hush this passionate storm 
Of ruin'd hopes, and bid me cease to pine 

With feverish longing for thy fancied form. 
Quelling within my heart its never-dying worm. 

What wild far thoughts — what unrecorded dreams 
Of thy bright beauty, of thy gushing tears, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 351 

When, in forsaking me, some dying gleams 
Of tenderness, some faint, half-buried fears 

Of what might be my jfate in after years. 
Awoke within thy soul, and bade thee weep, 

Shrouding the pain'd and heavy eyes which gazed 
On thy deserted infant's quiet sleep — 
Across my lonely heart have learnt at times to sweep. 

How have I pray'd to Him the Holy One, 

Who still hath guarded thy forsaken child, 
To lead my steps where thine before had gone. 

And let me feed my soul with visions wild. 
Of how thine eyes had look'd, thy lips had smiled — 

To lead me, even renounced, abjured by thee. 
Beneath th' illumined lattice, where beguiled 

By present thoughts and feelings, silently 
Thou dwellest now without one wandering thought of me. 

That I might see thy shadow in that room 

Glide to and fro upon the marble wall. 
And from my station in night's circling gloom. 

Watch thee, and dreara I heard thy footsteps fall 
Lightly in that (to me) forbidden hall ; 

Conjure thy low sweet voice by fancy's art. 
Shed wild and burning tears unseen by all 

Whose chilling gaze forbid those drops to start. 
And feel a strange joy swell within my rapturous heart. 

Oh ! mother, youth is vanish'd from thy life. 
The rose of beauty faded from thy cheek, 

Little to thee this world of guilt and strife, 

Thy fame — men's scorn — are shadows faint and 
weak ; 



352 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And yet thou wilt not let me hear thee speak 
Words frozen back by woman's struggling pride, 

Thou wilt not let me in thy bosom seek 

The rest for which my heart hath vainly sigh'd ; 
This — this was all I ask'd — and this thou hast denied ! 

Lone hath my life been, and very sad ; 

And wasted is the form thou wouldst not know ; 
And some have cursed, and some have deem'd me 
mad, 

And sorrow hath drawn lines upon my brow. 
Ah, who could cheer me half so well as thou 1 

Who could so soothe my feverish dreams of pain? 
Yet never for my sake thy tears shall flow. 

Unheard, unheeded, still must I complain, 
And to the hollow winds pour forth my woe in vain. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 353 



SUMMER'S GONK 



Hark ! through the dim wood dying, 

With a moan, 
Faintly the winds are sighing — 

Summer's gone ! 
There, when my bruised heart feeleth. 
And the pale moon her face revealeth, 
Darkly my footstep stealeth, 

To weep alone. 
Hour after hour I wander, 

By men unseen, 
And sadly my wrung thoughts ponder 

On what hath been. 

Summer's gone ! 



There, in our green bowers 

Long ago, 
Our path through the tangled flowers 

Treading slow — 
Oft hand in hand entwining — 
Oft side by side reclining — 
We watch'd in its crimson shining 

The sunset glow. 
Dimly that sun now burneth 

For me alone — 
80* 



354 MiSCELLANEOtTS POEMS. 

Spring after spring returneth, 
Thou art gone. — 

Summer's gone. 

Still on my worn cheek playeth 

The restless breeze ; 
Still in its freshness strayeth 

Between the trees. 
Still the blue streamlet gusheth — 
Still the broad river rusheth — 
Still the calm silence husheth 

The heart's disease : 
But who shall bring our meetings 

Back again % 
What shall recall thy greetings — 

Loved in vain ? 

Summer's gone. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 855 



SONG OF THE IRISH PEASANT WIFE. 



Come, Patrick, clear up the storms on your brow ; 
You were kind to me once — will you frown on me now 1 
Shall the storm settle hei-e when from heaven it departs, 
And the cold from without find its way to our hearts ? 
No, Patrick, no, surely the wintriest weather 
Is easily borne — while we bear it together ! 

Though the rain's dropping through from the roof to the 

floor. 
And the wind whistles free where there once was a 

door; 
Can the rain, or the snow, or the storm wash away 
All the warm vows we made in love's early day 1 
No, Patrick, no, surely the dark stormy weather 
Is easily borne — so we bear it together ! 

When you stole out to woo me, when labour was done, 
And the day that was closing to us seem'd but begun, 
Did we care if the sunset was bright on the flowers. 
Or if we crept out amid the darkness and showers ? 
No, Patrick, we talk'd, while we braved the wild weather, 
Of all we could bear — if we bore it together. 

Soon, soon, will these dark dreary days be gone by, 
And our hearts be lit up with a beam from the sky : 



356 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Oh ! let not our spirits, embitter'd with pain, 

Be dead to the sunshine that comes to us then : 

Heart in heart, hand in hand, let us welcome the 

weather. 
And, sunshine or storm, we will bear it together ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 357 



TO LADY GRAHAM. 

ON NEW year's day. 



Rose ! with thy young buds opening to the day, 

In fair and delicate beauty like thine own ; 
Small, fairy copies of thy features' play. 

Unconscious mimics of thy voice's tone ; 
Accept for them — for thee — a wish sincere — 

Ah ! could such wishes like warm sunbeams foil, 
To gild the coming of each anxious year. 

How much would hope avert, or love recall ! 



Few can their pausing glances backward throw. 

Nor feel thick-gathering tear-drops dim their gaze : 
Few can look forward with a cheerful glow, 

And hail the promise of more happy days. 
But thou ! — The old year (when its course was new) 

Twin birds of promise to thy bosom sent — 
And the new year seems opening to thy view 

With a dear dream of measureless content. 



May that New Year be bright to them and thet 
As bright as their inherited beauty seems — 

And thy heart own through its futurity 

(Like a child's slumber) none but happy dreams. 



358 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And oh I when Time, with gently stealing pace, 
Shall print his touch upon that open brow, 

And, passing, mellow with a graver grace 
The still unfaded beauty of its snow ; 

When fairy Constance smooths each careless curl, 

That now waves lightly round her tiny head, 
When the gay child becomes a graceful girl ; 

With blushing cheek, shy glance, and fawnlike tread ; 
When love hath shadow'd down those laughing eyes, 

(Ah ! be her love a happy one — like thine,) 
And all the hidden soul that in them lies. 

Like an mirisen star, hath leamt to shine ; 

When change without shall answer change within, 

And her expression alters, like thine own, 
Prom the calm innocence which knew not sin, 

To the bright purity which shuns when known ; 
When her young girlish loveliness brings back 

The winning beauty of thine early day 
To him who shares thy life's advancing track, 

And bids him pause to bless thee on the way ; — 

Oh, then, still worshipp'd in thy quiet home, 

(The place where woman's worshippers should be,) 
When all those busy memories crowding come. 

Which made existence dear to him and thee — 
May the New Year be still a welcome sound, 

Though coldly gleams the gray and wintry sky. 
And all the sunshine which thy heart hath found 

Smile on thy lip and sparkle in thine eye ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 359 



ON READING AN OLD LETTER. 



Oh, what gloomy shadows 

Steal across my soul, 
As I view thy pages. 

Long-forgotten scroll ! 
All the disappointments 

Of a weary life ; 
All the wild ambition, 

All the bitter strife ; 
All the gleams of pleasure, 

Sickening into pain ; 
All my youth's romances — 

Kound me rise again. 
Now I feel how feeble 

Is this nerveless arm. 
And how slow thy pulses. 

Heart, so wildly warm! 
Strength, and hope, and gladness, 

All have pass'd away, 
And my soul is darken'd, 

And my locks are gray. 
Young eyes weep for sorrow, 

Mine arc hot and dry ; 
But I yield thee, token, 

One long weary sigh ! 

Oh, how sad and alter'd 
Seems the world to me, 



360 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Since the joyous moment 

Which gave birth to thee ! 
Now alone I wander 

Through my father's halls, 
Where each silent chamber 

Many a dream recalls. 
There, no welcome voices 

Sound their carols sweet ; 
There, I hear no echo 

Of quick busy feet. 

Many a form lies sleeping, 

Loved in days of yore ; 
Many a face looks coldly, 

Cared for now no more ; 
Cheeks that met my glances 

With a crimson glow, 
Scarce my love remember, 

'Tis so long ago ! 
And the eyes whose beaming 

Like a sunrise burst, 
Seem but ghosts of others, 

Which I knew at first ! 

Heavier droop those eyelids, 

Through succeeding years, 
'Till death's silent shadow 

Closes on their tears. 
Yet to me more welcome 

Is each faded face. 
Than the joyous brightness 

Of a younger race. 
With those old companions 

I have wander'd on, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 361 

And their hearts remember 
All my heart hath known. 

From amongst the youthful 

We are fading fast ; 
Theirs is all the future, 

Ours is all the past. 
Buried there are feelings 

Kindness cannot wake ; 
New friends only grieve me 

For my old friends' sake ; 
E'en the smile of Beauty 

Wakens but a sigh, 
For the long-remember'd 

Dreams of days gone by. 

I sigh for thee^ tq.j sister, 

Whose sweet and winning voice, 
Through long hours of sorrow, 

Taught me to rejoice ; 
For that voice I listen, 

Many a night, in vain. 
While against my casement 

Beats the driven rain ; 
And sigh for thee, the fairest 

Of a young happy band, 
Long ago departed 

To the better land. 



Thou art gone, my brother ! 
Thou, whose earnest heart, 
Long, and well, and truly. 
Did a brother's part. 
81 



S62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Thou, whose nature left me 

Hope to lean upon, 
When some lighter feeling's 

Broken spell was gone, 
When the loved proved fickle, 

Or the friend betray'd : 
Who shall heal the sorrow 

Which thi/ loss hath made ! 

Oh ! my heart resembles, 

As it wastes away. 
Part of some lone ruin 

Sinking to decay ! 
Tall and stately columns, 

Graceful in their pride. 
Were my father's children, 

Standing side by side. . 
Scattered round about me, 

One by one they fall ; 
Why should I survive them, , 

Who was link'd with all 1 

Once again I read thee, 

Scroll, so lightly penn'd ; 
With a fond remembrance 

O'er thy leaves I bend. 
Jests which thou containest, 

Still can make me smile, 
Though the]/ sleep who made them 

In the vaulted aisle. 
The echo of a reveller's shout 

Is faint, and low, and sad ; 
But this wan lip's smiling 

Seems no longer glad. 



MISCELLANEOUB POEMS. 363 



MONA WATER. 



[Th« following ballad is founded on an incident which took place in the days 
vrhen the chieftain of a clan was the most despotic of all rulers. It was told 
me by an old ferryman, who religiously believed " fair Amie's" death to have 
been the consequence and punishment of the chief's tyranny towards the 
widow's son.] 



Oh, Mona's waves are blue and bright 

When the sun shines out, like a gay young lover ; 
But Mona's waves are dark as night, 

When the face of heaven is clouded over. 
The wild wind drives the crested foam 

Far up the steep and rocky mountain, 
And booming echoes drown th^ voice, 

The silvery voice, of Mona's fountain. 

Wild, wild, against that mountain's side, 
The wrathful waves were up and beating, 

When stern Glenvarloch's chieftain came, 
With anxious brow and hurried greeting. 

He bade the widow'd mother send, 
.(While loud the tempest's voice was raging,) 

Her fair young son across the flood. 

Where winds and waves their strife were waging. 

And still that fearful mother pray'd, 
" Oh ! yet delay — delay till morning. 

For weak the hand that guides our bark. 

Though brave his heart — all danger scorning." 



364 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Little did stern Glenvarloch heed : — 
*' The safety of my fortress tower 

Depends on tidings he must bring 
From Fairlie bank within the hour. 

" Seest thou across the sullen wave 

A blood-red baimer wildly streaming ? 
That flag a message sends to me, 

Of which my foes are little dreaming ! 
Thy boy must put his boat across, 

(Gold shall repay his hour of danger,) 
And bring me back, with care and speed, 

Three letters from the light-brow'd stranger." 

The orphan boy leapt lightly in ; 

Bold was his eye, and brow of beauty ; 
And bright his smile, as thus he spoke : 

" I do but pay a vassal's duty ; 
Pear not for me, oh ! mother dear. 

See how the boat the tide is spurning ; 
The storm will cease, the sky will clear, 

And thou shalt watch me safe returning." 

His bark shot on — now up, now down, 

Over those waves — the snowy-crested — 
Now like a dart it sped along. 

Now like a white-wing'd sea-bird rested. 
And ever when the wind sank low, 

Smote on the ear that woman's wailing, 
As long she watch'd, with straining eyes, 

That fragile bark's uncertain sailing. 

He reach'd the shore — the letters claim'd — 
Triumphant heard the stranger's wonder, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEliS. 365 

That one so young should brave alone 

The heaving lake, the rolling thunder. 
And once again his snowy sail 

Was seen by her, that mourning mother ; 
And once she heard his shouting voice — 

That voice the waves were soon to smother ! 

Wild burst the wind — wide flapp'd the sail — 

A crashing peal of thunder follow'd ; 
The gust swept o'er the water's face, 

And caverns in the deep lake hollow'd ! 
The gust swept past — the waves grew calm — 

The thunder died along the mountain ; 
But where was he who used to play, 

On sunny days, by Mona's fountain ! 

His cold corpse floated to the shore, 

Where knelt his lone and shrieking mother ; 
And bitterly she wept for him. 

The widow's son, who had no brother ! 
She raised his arm — the hand was closed — 

With pain the stiffen'd fingers parted. 
And on the sand those letters dropp'd. 

His last dim thought — the faithful-hearted. 



*&' 



Glenvarloch gazed, and on his brow 

Remorse and pain and grief seem'd blending ; 
A purse of gold he flung beside 

That mother o'er her dead child bending. 
Oh, wildly laugh'd that woman then ! 

"Glenvarloch, wad ye dare to measure 
The holy life that God hath gi'en 

Against a heap of golden treasure ? 
31* 



866 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

" Ye spurn'd my prayer — for we were poor — 

But know, proud man, that God hath power 
To smite the king on Scotland's throne, 

The chieftain in his fortress tower. 
Frown on, frown on ! I fear ye not ; 

"We've done the last of chieftain's bidding ; 
And cold he lies, for whose young sake 

I used to bear your wrathful chiding. 

" Will gold bring back the cheerful voice 

That used to win my heart from sorrow ? 
Will silver warm his frozen blood, 

Or make my hearth less lone to-morrow 1 
Go back, and seek your mountain home, 

And when ye kiss yere fair-hair'd daughter, 
Remember him who died to-night. 

Beneath the waves of Mona's water !" 

Old years roU'd on — and fresh ones came — 

Foes dare not brave Glenvarloch's tower ; 
But naught could bear the sickness out 

That stole into fair Amie's bower. 
The o'er-blown floweret in the sun 

Sinks languid down and withers daily, 
And so she sank — her voice grew faint. 

Her laugh no longer sounded gaily. 

Her step fell on the old oak-floor. 

As noiseless as the snow-showers drifting ; 

And from her sweet and serious eyes 
Seldom they saw the dark lid lifting. 

" Bring aid, bring aid," the father cries ; 
" Bring aid," each vassal's voice is crying ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 367 

The fair-hair'd beauty of the isles, 
Her pulse is faint, her life is flying. 

He call'd in vain : her dim eyes tum'd 

And met his own with patient sorrow ; 
For well she knew, that fading girl. 

How he must weep and wail the morrow. 
Her faint breath ceased — the father bent 

And gazed upon his fair-hair'd daughter — 
What thought he on ? — The widow's son. 

And the stormy night by Mona's water ! 



368 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



LINES 

ON SEEING MR. LANDSEEr's PICTURE OF THE 
DEATH OF THE STAG. 



Lo ! where he dies — the forest king, 

The untamed creature of the hills 
His red blood tints the torrent's spring, 

And blushes to the distant rills. 
On hath he flown, with hunted speed. 

In hope to quench that unknown pain.* 
Leap ! leap, poor victim, thou art freed, 

They cannot bid thee flee again ! 
He leaps ! — the torrent foams around, 

He heaves with pain his ebbing breath, 
The turbid waters' hollow sound 

O'ercomes the gasping sobs of death. 
Torn, harass'd, wounded, lo ! he turns. 

With yearning heart and upward gaze, 
To where the sunlight faintly burns. 

With misty and reflected rays ; 
Nor knows that, in that distant break, 

Over the blue hills far away, 
His dying eyes are doom'd to take 

Their last farewell of light and day. 
Those dying eyes ! the gaze is there 

Which measures not the moments given — 

* The deer, when wounded, always, if possible, takes to the 
water. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 369 

The hunted, animal despair, 

Which dreads no hell, and hopes no heaven ! 
Within that pain'd and throbbing heart 

Vague sense of suffering and of fear 
Bids life's deep instinct act its part, 

But tells not being's close is near. 



Perish ! the foes have reach'd thy side 

Who erst pursued thee, vainly dying ; 
They struggle with thee in the tide, 

And triumph in thy pangs while flying ! 
Perish ! the crowd of human foes. 

Who slay in sport, and shout with mirth 
When slow some crowned forehead bows 

Its antler'd beauty to the earth. 
Are near thee now — they stand and shade 

With eager hands their eager eyes, 
While fail those energies which made 

The only value of their prize. 
Hard Triumph, with no heart to grieve. 

Watches thy glistening eye grow dim, 
Proud that all strength and fleetness leave 

Each sick, and strain'd, and quivering limb. 
'Tis a mysterious thought, th' extent 

Of grace, and strength, and life which goes, 
(By man, Death's shrinking victim, sent,) 

Where dark Oblivion's portals close. 
'Tis a mysterious thought ; for great 

The proud display of God's high power — 
Did He so fair a thing create, 

The pastime of a cruel hour % 
But such are not the thoughts which fill 

Their hearts, who come with bounding feet, 



870 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 

Pix^ud ot* superior strength and skill. 
To watch the hunted stag's defeat : 

Atethinks I seo them wandering out 
Aeross those Mue autumnal hills. 

And pealing baek the hunter's shout, 
lliat long the distant echo fills, 

1 am in Seotland ! Tay's "bi\>ad lake 

Spreads far a\Yay beftn*e mine eves, 
Ia^ ed tor its ovm, for others* sake. 

And bright beneath its elondless skies. 
I an\ in S^vtland ! 1 behold 

Shehall ion's high and narrow peak, 
AV here evening, purple, dark, and eold, 

Overcomes day^s last fiunt crimson stiw'ik. 
I hear, Moness, thy deafening fall, 

Or wander to the Prinet^'s Cave ; 
Olmb thy stet>p side, dark Garoval, 

Or fflide o*er Kannix^lf s srh^ssv waye : 
Sv j.'\'o ^'.lowing which may s^vm most fiiir, 

TiiO glittering sunshine of its day. 
Or the pale movnilight, lingering there, 

like love when hope hath p^t away ! 

1 wake ! 'twas bnt the ji^rfect skill. 

Young jxiinter, of thy practised hand. 
Which could my heart s<l^ strangely fill 

With visions of another land. 
Dear land ! to which thought's weary wing 

Yearns ot\en with a wislifiil flight, 
'Midst the dark city's meagre spring, 

A " - .s of artificial light, 
Whe;\ ii. down-dashing torrents brave 

The dark nx^k's side with ceaseless roar ; 



MI8CELLANEOU8 POEMS. 371 

Where the calm lake's translucent wave 

Curls rippling to the even shore. 
That pleasure which is link'd with pain, 

Ilath fill'd rny eyes with liappy toars, 
And made my heart grow young again 

With feelings of forgotten years ! 
The days return, when morning's rise 

Woke me to spend long hours of mirth. 
And light sleep left my dazzled eyes. 

Suddenly, with the sunshine's birth. 
Those days are past — my heart, more cold. 

Hath leanit to play its practised part. 
Less joyous than the days of old, — 

Less ready, too, are tears to start. 
Like an unsummon'd spirit, close ' 

Within my heart my memory lives : 
I take life as its current flows — 

I take the Spring the city gives — 
Pale blossoms, withering while they blow, 

Cramp'd foliage on the dusty trees, 
No moss-banks where the waters flow. 

Nor freshness in the loaded breeze — 
But yet '^w Spring : and life is life. 

Though its best dreams grow faint and dim, 
And vanish, in its ceaseless strife. 

All energy of heart and limb. 
Hopes tempt at first which shrink and die. 

Tried in the furnace fire of truth — 
And there are feelings which munt fly. 

And leave us with our days of youths 
Till, like that fair, forsaken thing. 

Who grew " not happy, but content,"* 

• Louise de la Valli^re. — " Je ne suw pas heureiwe, mai« je Buia 
cootenU:.'' 



872 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

When those dear hopes have taken wing, 
In soberer mood our life is spent : 

Nor sigh we for the broken spell, 
Save in some deep entranced hour 

Like that which o'er my spirit fell 
When gazing on thy pencil's power ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 373 



LINES. 



I THINK of thee — not as thou art, 

In the cold and hollow grave, 
Where the sun's rays vainly dart, 

And the cypress branches wave : 
But I think of thee, bright and young. 

With life on thy beaming brow. 
And I sing all the songs that we sung — 

Though thou never canst hear me now ! 

I think of thee — not with the grief 

Of those past and passionate years, 
When my heart sought a vain relief 

In bitter and burning tears : 
But I think of thee, fond and gay, 

Unshadow'd by death or pain. 
And smiles on thy red lips play — 

As they never may play again ! 

I think of thee — not as I thought 

When I stood by thine early tomb. 
And all that this world had brought 

Seem'd wrapp'd in a changeless gloom : 
But I think of the living friend 

Of my happiest early days. 
And what thou wert wont to commend 

I (Jo — though thou canst not praise. 
82 



374 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Calmly I welcome the guest 

Who knows not he's loved for thy sake ; 
I laugh when he tells me some jest 

Which thou in thy lifetime didst make : 
In the groves where thy footsteps have been 

I wander with others, nor weep 
When a glimpse of some favourite scene 

Brings thoughts of thy long dark sleep. 

But, oh ! though a change hath come o'er 

My heavy and mournful heart — 
. Though thy name hath the power no more 

To bid the warm tear-drop start — 
The sun shall grow dark in the skies, 

And the turf spring no more on the hill. 
When thy love from my memory dies — 

Lost heart, I remember thee still ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 375 



CHRISTMAS. 



Another year hath closed. How swift they pass ! 

When once Fate's tardy hand the thread hath spun 

Once set, the sand within Time's hour-glass 

Is quickly run ! 
While waited for, how slow the days advanced — 

Past by, how like a dream their speed appears — 
Look'd forward to, how bright the distance glanced — 

Look'd back up6n, how dimm'd with secret tears ! 
Barrier of hopes fulfill'd, ambition gain'd. 

Mysterious goal which seem'd to end the race. 
How little in thy course hath been obtain'd ! — 

And now, another year must take thy place. 
Ere we pass on with eager, hasty strides 

To this new portion of uncertain Time, — 
Ere we would rend the shadowy veil which hides 

Those fiiture hours of joy, or woe, or crime. 
Shall we not pause, and take a slow review 

Of days w^hose deeds no effort can recall, 
And mingle sorrow in that long adieu. 

Even though their sweetness hath been tinged with 
gain 
Shall we not part from thee, departing year, 

With tenderness, as from a dying friend. 
Whose very faults (familiar faults !) grow dear. 

When all which charm'd or sadden'd hath an end ? 



376 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Those faults — we know they can offend no more — 

Those days — we feel they never may return — 
We were impatient till they both were o'er — 

And yet that they are past, doth make us mourn : 
Is this the instinct of mortality 

Which makes us grudge each step that leads us on to die 1 
It matters not. We have no power to stay 
Time's even march, or slack his rapid way ; 
Welcome or not, — to sad or cheerful homes, 
Dreaded or long'd for, — wintry Christmas comes ! 
From the rich lord, whose ermined limbs scarce know 
How chill the air when dim with drifting snow, 
To the poor wretch whose scanty store denies 
A purchased shelter from th' inclement skies ; 
Prom the young school-boy, who with glowing hands 
Lifts the dear latch, and on home's threshold stands, 
Gazes with dazzled eyes a moment round, 
And gains his mother's breast with one glad bound- 
To the grave statesman, full of plodding care, 
With wi'inkled brow and meditative air, 
Plotting and planning, harass'd, worn, and vex'd, 
Dreaming throughout this Christmas of the next. 
And in the chance oi future change or strife 
Losing the present of his weary life ; — 
To all it comes ! but not to all the same, 
Diiferent its aspect, though unchanged the name. 
And even as in the lantern's magic glass 
Thin shadowy forms and silent figures pass, 
So in the fleeting visions of my mind 
The fancied scenes from many a home I find. 



Lo ! where beside the gray and stormy deep 
A young fair widow steals away to weep. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 877 

One of a noble lineage is she — 

Noblest of England's aristocracy — 

Yet nobler in themselves — proud, pure, and go 

A fair, and bright, and gentle sisterhood ; 

Who, happy wives, fond mothers, practise all 

The peasant-virtues in each gilded hall. 

(Ah ! happy thou^ proud parent, who can stand 

And watch thy lilies blooming through the land ; 

Conscious, while for their looe thy spirit grieves, 

No blight but woe shall ever stain their leaves.) 

Good, fair, and gentle, like the rest is she, 

Yet sorrow's hand hath touch'd her heavily ; 

To her the Christmas brings no pleasant tone, 

For she hath not been used to smile alone, 

Save when she teaches (ah ! most bitter joy !) 

The father's lessons to his gentle boy. 

No fickle puppet of the clamorous crowd 

"Was he she mourns, with sorrow " deep, not loud ;" 

His were high birth and honour, manly sense, 

An earnest heart and gentle eloquence, 

The stable virtues of a generous mind, 

The varied talents of a taste refined. 

Loved by his friends, respected by his foes — 

Too soon, alas ! did such a being close. 

Still o'er the graceful verse our head is bent, 

Wrapt in its true and tender sentiment. 

Still do we see the well-known name appear 

Among the tributes for the coming year. 

And start to think, ere this had past away, 

Thy noble soul had sunk beneath thy frame's decay.* 



* Lord Dover. 
82* 



378 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And thou ! fair royal boy * who seeketh still, 
Far from our homes, the aid of foreign skill ; 
When glittering halls are garlanded and hung, 
When Christmas games are play'd, and carols sung ! 
When merry shouts are ringing through the air, 
And pleasures plann'd, in which thou canst not share — 
Oh ! let us not forget thee ; many a night 
Thine eyes have gaily caught those tapers bright, 
And now thy day itself receives no light ; 
Oft have I seen thee, vnth a smiling glance, 
Choose thy young partner for the happy dance ; 
And blest thee, as thy fair and flushing cheek 
Turn'd proudly to that gentle one to speak. 
Midst all the pomp that chains the courtly line, 
The eager grace of childhood still was thine — 
The eager grace of childhood, and its hope, 
Boundless beyond imaginable scope. 
Ah ! let us not forget thee — for to thee. 
Dark must the coming of the Christmas be ! 
But in the hours of holy fervour pray 
To Him the Just, who gives and takes away, 
That hope's bright dawn within thy heart may rise, 
And the blue morning steal upon thine eyes ; 
And thou, in after years remembering still 
The visiting of thy Creator's will. 
Shall give thine alms and gentle words to all 
Whom such a mournful darkness may enthrall — 
The poor, who feel the curse 'neath which even thou, 
With all thy royal power, was forced to bow ! 

My spirit pauses, and sends out its glance 

Far where are twined the sunny vines of France ! 

* Prince George of Cumberland. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 379 

There a sad circle sit, whose former day 

Was always cheerful, and was often gay. 

Young Arabella !* 'tis for thee they weep, 

Who in thy lifetime never caused a tear — 

And therefore is their grief more sad and deep, 

In the proportion in which thou wert dear. 

Thou hadst a dancing step, a bird-like voice, 

A clear bright eye, a look that said " Rejoice !" 

And many loved thee. Thou hast mock'd them all 

For dreaming earthly love thy sole could thrall. 

And thou hast glided to thy quiet rest, 

With the heaped mould upon thy virgin breast. 

Thy spirit-eyes were all too blue and bright 

To live reflecting aught but Heaven's own light. 

And Heaven hath spared thee all those hours of pain 

Which might be thine if thou wert here again. 

Thy woman's lot is spared thee — bitter fears. 

Wild jealousies, and disregarded tears. 

And hopes, which, canker'd by some eating worm, 

Like that which fed upon thy budding form, 

Live on for long in bright unseen decay. 

And in some sudden sorrow die away ! 

But they who lost thee — to their grieving hearts 

Such thoughts no comfort brings, no balm imparts ; 

Through many a day they still must sit and mourn 

With selfish love, that sighs for thy return ; 

And thy poor mother with a double woe 

Droops her coifed head beneath this second blow. 

And shrieks at Death, who with relentless stroke 

Laid low the gentle flower beside the parent oak. 

* Daughter of the late Harry Scott, Esq. 



880 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Adventurous Ross ! methinks thy home I see, 
Where thy proud child stands at his father's knee ; 
And while thy lips of strange, wild dangers tell, 
(Well may'st thou paint them w^ho didst brave them well,) 
Feels rising strong within his youthful breast 
Love of adventure, scorn of idle rest, 
Fearlessness, heart to suffer, soul to dare. 
Untiring hope and generous wish to share- 
All that, when language slow the thought imparts, 
Comes with that one word sailor to our hearts. 
Safe in the peaceful haven of thy 'home. 
Let not rash spirit move thee now to roam ; 
Tempt not thy fortune — ^linger by his side, , 
And when he fain would wander, be his guide ; 
Lead him in fancy to those northern snows, 
Where the long night no genial morning knows ; 
'Mid the ribb'd ice, whose frozen bounds, they say, 
Make England's Christmas seem a sum.mer's day ; 
And while the lessening circle round thee draws,- — 
Too fond for doubt, too eager for applause, — 
While to flush'd cheek and sparkling eye the blaze 
Of the warm hearth fire sends reflected rays — 
Pour in thy young companion's eager ears 
Wild stories told with smiles, and listen'd to with tears. 



William of England ! sovereign of the isle 
Where fickle Fortune deals her steadiest smile, 
Well is thy kingdom fenced and guarded round, 
When hearts like these upon its soil are found,-— 
And generous wert thou when thy kind arms press'd 
A brother sailor to the royal breast. 
Oh ! be it lorg, my country, ere thy name 
Shall furnish fewer to the lists of fame. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 381 

Still be thy daughters kind, and fair, and true ; 
Still be thy sons a hardy, generous crew ; 
Still may thy years all peaceful glide away, 
Nor wars disturb, nor vexing feuds decay. 
May individual grief, the private woe. 
Be all the gloom thy poet's song shall know ; 
And spite of these (in these all have their part). 
May England's Christmas cheer the poor man's glowing 
heart. 



382 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



They mourn the minstrel of the North 

In many a hall and many a bower — 
They mourn the soul of sterling worth, 

They mourn the pen of magic power. 
For him does Scotland's hardy son 

Tread with slow step the birchen shade, 
While proud, yet grieved, his gallant heart 

Swells high beneath the folded plaid. 
There, gazing on the purple hill, 

The sheeted lake, the torrent's fall. 
He weeps the vanish'd muse, whose power, 

Rich in wild words, could paint them all ! 
For him the merry stranger's eye 

(Who reads in a translated tongue, 
With half its wit obscured and hid. 

The song through many a nation sung) 
Droops o'er the page, and seeks in vain 

Amid the names of lesser note 
One that may fill his vacant place. 

And write as he, the mighty, wrote. 
For him the patriot inly sighs — 

For him the gentle maiden grieves — 
With him the impetuous youth regrets 

The wild romance no other weaves^— 
The wild romance, which many a night 

Hath wrapt his soul in spell so strong 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 383 

That he hath almost deem'd himself 

The hero of the minstrel's song : 
The cheek of childhood, at the sound, 

With momentary tears is wet — 
And startled nations pause to mourn — 

But he hath glory greater yet. 
In his own home, salt tears are wept — 

In his own home, fond eyes are dim — 
Round his own hearthstone, grieving hearts 

And quivering lips remember Am/ 
Through many a land, with mournful note, 

Let proud tradition praise his name — 
Let marble monuments arise. 

And all that genius gave proclaim — 
Stilly in that quiet spot, his home^ 

A monument more proud shall be ; 
Arid dying men shall paint his worth 

Upon their children's memory, 
And mingle with the great man's life 

The story of the good man's end. 
And while they mourn th' inspired soul, 

Weep for the father and the friend ! 



THE END. 



NOTES TO THE UNDYING ONE. 



Note 1. — Page 73, line 18. 
" Like hers of old, who prayed and found relief^'' 
The widow of Nain, and the Shunamite, are both recorded 
scriptural instances of tlie recall of departed souls to the deserted 
clay, in order to assuage maternal agony. It is to be regretted 
that we have no means of ascertaining, by the after-life of these 
objects of affection, in what degree that return to life was blessed, 
either to the mourner or her idol. 

Note 2. — Page 75, line 16. 

" Were fain to curse their Maker, and depart." 

Vide the advice given to Job by his wife — " Curse God and die.^ 

Note 3. — ^Page 81, line 29. 

" Gave England's Richard gifts." 

At Richard the First's coronation, some Jews, pressing into 
Westminster-hall, were put to death by the people, and a false 
alarm being spread, that the king had ordered a general massacre 
of them, they were slain in many parts of England, although 
they had come from all the countries of Europe to bring the king 
costly presents for his protection. 

Note 4. — Page 82, line 6. 

" Brother laid brother low." 

Five hundred of the Jews, in the early part of Richard the 
First's reign, took refuge in York Castle, where the mob besieged 



386 NOTES TO THE UNDYING ONE. 

them : being driven to the last extremity, they threw their 
children at the enemy, and cut one another's throats, rather than 
surrender. 

Note 5. — Page 89, line 6. 

" In half eclipse beyond the darkened glass.'* 

It is a well-known fact, that a fragment of smoked glass will 
enable the happy possessor to distinguish avisible eclipse of the 
sun, with far greater distinctness than he could without its aid, 
owing to the sight not being dazzled. A lens of crystallized tears, 
bequeathed from father to son, might be of great service in pre- 
venting the visible future from appearing too bright in our eyes ; 
perhaps, when balloons do the work of stage-coaches, and other 
of our rapid improvements are completed, something of this sort 
may be planned and executed, for the benefit of succeeding ages ! 

Note 6. — ^Page 95, line 9. 

" JSach hue of life hy gradual shades withdrew^ 

It would be a source of infinite satisfaction to me, if, by a veiy 
feeble description of what was very strongly felt, I could impart 
to my readers one tenth part of the dread and horror I experi- 
enced on a similar occasion to the one related in the poem. It was 
my misfortune that night to go to rest at variance with some of 
those "near and dear unto me;" and with a humility natural to 
my waking hours, exaggerating the effect produced on their 
minds by my conduct, I supposed them all dead of grief. Remorse 
instantly took possession of my hitherto callous heart, and, with 
a passionate invocation on the names of the departed, I threw 
myself back on my visionary sofa and wept. I had not been in 
that situation many minutes, before I heard those familiar voices 
calling me by my name. The tones sounded as if from a distance ; 
whereupon, uncovering my face, I looked towards the window, 
but to my surprise, the speakers were close to my feet, looking 
just as they did before my unnatural conduct caused their un- 
timely end. A feeling of being hoaxed flashed across my mind, 
and I was tempted to exclaim with the Giaour — 

"I knew 'twas false — they could not die !" 

Fearful, however, of offending my newly recovered friends, I 



NOTES TO THE C N D Y I N G ONE. 387 

remained silent, and so did they, till their silenee and the unal- 
terable eomposxire of their countenances, produced that sick dread 
which is only felt in dreams. There was neither grief, gladness 
displeasure, nor surprise visible on their countenances — they 
merely looked at me ; and gradually, as I gazed, the colours of 
the drapery worn by them (" gay attire," meet for London after 
Easter) grew more and more pale and indistinct, till the whole 
(not even excepting their features,) became one deadly white, the 
eyes only retaining a sort of faint tinge of their original hiie, at 
the same time that the resemblance of each figure to its living 
original was perfect ; they stood quite still, and might have stood 
there till now ; but that I woke in the greatest possible agony of 
mind — I might almost add, of body, for my heart beat so full and 
heavily, I thought it would have burst — it did not, however : I 
met my friends at breakfast, convinced that ghosts appear 
precisely in that way, and praying Heaven to preserve me from 
such another night 

Note T.— Page 102, line 29. 

" Oh ! Siich his madness." 

The poet Tasso, on whose case de lunatico inquirendo opinions 
have been much divided. 

Note 8. — ^Page 113, line 4. 
" Till she anchors in Killala Bay." 

This particular anchorage was originally intended to be of 
service to my readers, as a chronological date, bringing the Un- 
dying One to a modern jera, the landing of the French in Ireland, 
in 1798 ; but having, for reasons satisfactory to myself, omitted 
the passage, I take this opportimity of mentioning my previous 
views. 

Note 9. — Page 115, line 7. 

" She comes — a shock — a hollow whirling sound" 

In the year 1778, the London East Indiaman was run down by 
the Russel man-of-war, when up\v'ards of one hundred people 
perished. I was discussing this species of danger at sea, with a 
person I met in a steam packet bound for Edinburgh : lie assured 



388 NOTES TO THE UNDYING ONE. 

me the case was by no means uncommon, and that he recol- 
lected, during the "war, being on board a merchant ship, which, 
having no arms on board, purposely ran down a small French 
vessel: he added, there was no sound but one wild scream of 
several voices in unison, and a grating as the merchant ship 
passed over. There were thirty souls on board the French 
vessel. I asked whether the captain was not dreadfully shocked : 
" Yes," said my informant, " I remember he set his teeth very 
hard at the time; but he considered himself justified by the fact 
of his having neither arms nor ammunition to defend himself, 
in case they should attack him," 

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Rhymes for the Nursery. 

Paper covers, 15 cts. ; colored plates, 87 cts. 

By Jane Taylor and lier Sisters, authors of that very popular book, 
"Original Poems for Ii\fant Minds," containing one hundred and two 
different little poems, and seventy-two cuts. 

Story of Aladdin ; 

Or, The Wonderful Lamp. From the Arabian Kighta* 
Entertainment. With illustrations. 50 cts. 

The Story without an End. 

Translated from the German of Carore by Mrs. Austen. 
88 cts. 

"This is a Gem. All that is sweet, serious, and solemn in childhood 
and its dawning conceptions, finds a portraiture in the wanderings of a 
child among the productions of Nature." 

Seven Voyages of Sin d bad the Sailor, 

And the Story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. From 
the Arabian Nights' Entertainment. \Vith illustrations. 
50 cts. 

Elements of Morality ; 

Or, Stories for Children. Translated from the German of 
Salzmann. A most excellent work, with engravings, and a 
copper-plate frontispiece. 50 cts. 

Tales of the Saxons : 

A Picture of Domestic Life in England in old Saxon Times. 
In three very interesting stories. By Emily Taylor. With 
engravings. 50 cts. 

Holiday Stories. 

Containing five Moral Tales, viz. : Harry Norman ; Ellen 
and George *, The Little Blue Bag ; Poor Old Peggy; Gcor- 
gina, or the Excursion. 

xiii 



PUBLISUED BY C. S. FRANCIS & CO., NEW YORK. 

(Terman Popular Tales 

And Household Stories. Collected by the Brothers Grimm. 

Newly translated, with illustrations'by Edward H Wehnert 

Complete edition, containing 296 stories. 2 vols. With 16 

full page illustrations, and numerous smaller engravings. 

$2. 25 cts. 

Grimm's is fhe nursery-book for children in Germany; notbmg is s^o 

popular with them— no gift so welcome. This translation will be equally 

acceptable to the young people of this country. It is very well trans 

lated. It contains some three hundred stories, and is illustrated with 

Bingolarly clever and characteristic wood-cuts.— Cz-^'^ic. 

Stories and Poems for Children. 

By Mrs. Gilman. 38 cts. 

Young Man's Evening Book, 

Including Sketches and Anecdotes in Natural History, In- 
cidents of Travel, &c., &o. With engravings. 75 cts. 

Turns of Fortune, 

All that Glitters is not Gold, There is no Hurry. Three 
delightful Stories. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. 88 cts. 

The Private Purse, 

And other Stories. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. 

Mrs. Hall's stories are not mere graceful fictions, but pictures of society 
—of the world around us. Her touch is vigorous, and her tone geniil; 
she sees clearly and feels deeply. Artistically constructed — tenderly and 
gracefully written — and pointing, never an obtrusive, always an irresist- 
ible moral — her tales are ever as true to the requirements of Art as to 
the facts of Nature. — London Morning Clironicle. 

Claudine ; 

Or, Humility the Ba^is of all the Virtues. A Swiss Tale. 
By a Mother. Author of " Always Happy." 88 cts. 

The Little Wreath 

Of stories and Poems for Children. By Mrs. Gilman. 
88 cts. 

Classic Tales. 

Designed for the Amusement and Instmction of Young 
, Persons. By Eliza Bobbins. 38 cts. 

Kate and Lizzie ; 

Or, Six Months out of School. By Anne W. Abbott. 38 cts. 

Tales from English History 

For Children. By Agnes Strickland. Witt ten engravingSt 
62| cts. 

xiv 



PUBLISHED BY C. S. FRANCIS & CO., NEW YORK. 

Stories from the History of the Jews, 

Giving an Account of their Wars, as related by Josephus; 
with additional facts from later Jewish History. Adapted 
for young persons. With 24 engravings. 75 cts. 

American Girl's Book ; 

Or, Occupation for Play Hours. By Eliza Leslie. 83 oa- 
gravings. 75 cts. 

"This book contains avast fund of entertainment for pnrls when in 
fuest of recreation, such as sports and pastimes, plays with toys, with 
games, with cards, riddles, charades, enigmas, etc., fancy ueedlework, etc, 
with designs drawn by the author." 

American Girl's Book Enlarged, 

Being the American Girl's Book by Miss Leslie, and Hinta 
for Happy Hours, bound in one. $1.21. 

Winter Evening Book 

Of Pleasant and Useful Reading ; containing Personal Nar- 
rative ; Incidents of Travel ; Information in. Science ; Poet- 
ical Selections, etc. With numerous engravings. Gilt cloth, 
75 cts. Extra gilt, $1.00. 

The Boy's Own Book. 

A complete Encyclopedia of all the diversions, athletic, 
scientific, and recreative, of boyhood and youth. American 
edition. 75 cts. 

Including Games with Marbles, Tops. Balls, Sports of Agility and 
Speed, Toys. Archery, Cricket, Gymnastics, Swimming, Arithmetical, 
Optical, and Chemical Amusements; Checkers, Cards, Legerdemain, 
Puzzles, Riddles, Angling, Fencing, etc., etc., etc., with very numerous 
engravings. 

The Robins ; 

Or, Domestic Life among the Birds. By Mrs. Trimmer. 
Designed for the instruction of children respecting their 
treatment of animals. 38 cts. 

Bible Biography, 

In the form of Questions; with references to Scripture for 
Answers. Containing several thousand questions on above 
two hundred names of persons mentioned in the Bible, 
12i cts. 

Stories from History. 

By Agnes Strickland, author of Lives of the Queens of 
England, Talcs from English History, etc., etc. Containing 
twelve stories from the history of different European nations, 
illustrated by 24 engravings. Cloth, gilt, 7 ■> cts. ; e-xtra, $1.00 
xvii 



PUBLISHED BY C. S. FRANCIS & CO., NEW YORK. 

Library of Instructive Amusement 

Includes the following six volumes, all illustrated: The 
Young Man's Evening Book, The Winter Evening Book, 
The Summer Day Book, The Every Day Book, The Parlour 
Book, Leisure Hour Book. 

Arbell ; 

A Tale for young people. By Jane Winnard Hooper. With 

engravings. 75 cts. ; gilt, $1. 

♦' A delightful story ; teautifully printed and illustrated." 

Belzoni's Travels in Egypt ; 

The fruit of enterprise exhibited in the adventures of Bel- 
zoni in Egypt and Nubia, with an account of his discoveries 
among the Pyramids, ancient Tombs, etc., related in a very 
interesting manner, and illustrated with steel engravings. 
50 cts. 

The Children's Friend ; 

By Arnaud Berquin. A new translation, in two volumes, 
with numerous engravings. $1,00. 

"The most honorable prize oflFered by the Eoyal French Academy, 
for the most useful book for youth, was awarded to M. Berquin for tb« 
composition of the Children's Friend." 

Mrs. Barbauld's Lessons for Children ; 

A new pictorial edition, with nearly 100 illustrations. 38 cts. 

The Boy's Story Book; 

Or, Edward's Holidays with his Cousins ; containing twenty- 
eight Moral Tales, with ten illustrations. 62 cts. 

Leila ; or, The Island. 

By Ann Eraser Tytler. With engravings by J. W. Orr, 
from original designs. Cloth, 75 cts. ; extra gilt, $1.00. 

Leila in England. 

A continuation of Leila, or the Island. By the same author. 
With original engravings. 75 cts. Extra gilt, $1.00. 

Leila at Home. 

A continuation of Leila in England. By the same author. 
To match. 75 cts. Gilt extra, $1.00. 

"Miss Tytler's writings are especially valuable for their religiouf spirit 
She sketches from juvenile life with perfect nature and true art" 

xvi 



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